


A Heck of a Town

by volunteerfd



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: F/M, M/M, New York
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 27,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volunteerfd/pseuds/volunteerfd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elders Price, McKinley, and Cunningham get sent to another mission in New York City, which turns out to be a whole new crisis of faith and character. Connor finds a boyfriend! Kevin finds a new religion! Arnold finds a deli!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“First Uganda, now New York _City_.” Elder Price’s voice pitched to a whine as it often did when he didn’t get what he wanted. He thought, after the Lord’s trial of Uganda, he would be rewarded with Orlando, or at least Cali. Somewhere sunny and bright and with pockets of Godliness. But no, it was New York _City_ , emphasis on _City_ , not the holy land of Upstate New York, which most people meant when they said “New York,” or even Long Island, where at least people had houses and families, but New York _City_ , where there was no love or warmth, just Starbucks on every corner.

Perhaps this was punishment for his doubt, even though his foray into non-belief was short-lived. After he returned from Uganda, he decided to go to the library and do some research on the Internet because, heck, if he was going to explore a world of depravity, he might as well use the Internet, but what if someone found out? What if his grandmother happened to be in the library at the same time and she glanced at his screen and saw what he was doing and dropped dead right behind him, but not before screaming, and everyone would run over and see his grandmother, with the last of her strength, pointing an accusatory finger at him , and they’d look at him and see his computer screen because he’d be too horrified to cover the screen with the piece of paper he’d brought to hide his sin, and everyone would know that Elder Price killed his grandmother with his atheism?

So he took a couple of buses to the Chapman branch.

He started with search term  “lack of faith.” It was a bad start; most of his results were pictures of Darth Vader telling him that his lack of faith was disturbing  and he almost fainted. Was it a sign? Was His Holy Father sending him a message that his lack of faith was disturbing? But wasn’t Darth Vader a bad guy? So wouldn’t it be the opposite, that his lack of faith was good because the bad guy thought it was bad?

He revised the search to “Atheism.”

At first, atheism seemed benign, more like an academic philosophy than a garbage chute to Hellfire. That’s how the devil gets you, he thought. One website led to another and he found himself on the Twitter page of “Richard Dawkins,” a prophet of atheism. Between that and readett atheism, Kevin rolled his eyes so much that he saw spots for a good thirty minutes. Even he couldn’t handle that level of pompousness. All those people thinking they were better than everyone else just because they talked so much about what they believed? How was that any different than--well, than Mormons? He might as well stay with the Church.

He thanked the Lord for leading him right and not killing his grandma, and that’s how he found himself packing for his second missionary trip with Connor and Arnold.

He folded one of his white shirts and tucked it into the suitcase. There was something a little weird, all those white shirts and black pants, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. What if he stuck a blue shirt in there? What if he had a blue shirt? What if he had a fedora, like an atheist?

“It might not be so bad,” Elder Mckinley said. There was a feeling, deep down that he kept hidden away with all the other feelings he kept deep down and hidden away, that he would like New York _City._ Shining lights that ensured the city never faced a single moment of darkness. The skyscrapers, large and erect, shooting into the endless, gaping expanse of sky. Times Square! How could anyone not love Times Square, with all those friendly Elmos and, rumor had it, a Hello Kitty store? A store just for Hello Kitty merchandise? How could they fill it?

Not to mention the theatre, real theatre, not his dentist and his old history teacher mewling through _The Music Man_ in front of two dozen folding chairs in a smelly auditorium that had been an AA meeting 20 minutes before. Museums, boutiques, art installations. Not to be judgmental! But what was the point of doing The Music Man if you were going to slow down the tempo to Trouble in River City? He tried not to let himself get too excited because his hands had a habit of fluttering like small birds if he got too excited.

“I heard there are--” Elder Cunningham hesitated, trying to find the polite term, “Jews.”

“Elder Cunningham! Don’t call them that!” Kevin gasped.

“What am I supposed to call them?” Arnold was sure that was as appropriate as you could get when referring to, you know, Jews. Kevin didn’t answer immediately. A look of confusion flashed across his face.

“People,” Kevin said, after a moment. “We call them people.”

Arnold felt chided, but not enough to stop him from muttering, “I heard there are Muslims, too.”

“Well--” Connor started, then stopped. “No one’s beyond salvation. The important thing is, we’re all together.” He grabbed Arnold and Kevin’s hands in a prayer circle. “Heavenly Father, thank you for keeping me together with my brothers Elder Cunningham and Elder Price, no matter what other trials You send us to.”

“Amen.”

It was easy to consider Elder Cunningham a brother. In fact, there was no reason for Connor to keep saying brotherbrotherbrother way more than normal for Arnold. Even after Arnold became a prophet, Connor couldn’t see him as anything other than a very annoying, very lovable, typical younger brother, of which Connor already had three from biological family.

Kevin, on the other hand…

The other two pulled away, but Connor tightened his grip. He wasn’t done praying.

“I am very grateful for the brotherhood I developed with both Arnold and Kevin, who are just like brothers I grew up with, and I could not ask for anything more than that, because brotherhood is the highest, most special relationship a group of men of the Lord could have. So thank you, Lord, for providing me with so many brothers.”

“...Amen?” 

Connor finally let go and clapped his hands twice. “Let’s finish our packing and head to New York _City_!"

 


	2. Start Spreading the News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys arrive, kind of, and try to figure out the transit system.

Arnold conked out as soon as the plane took off, essentially leaving Connor alone with Kevin. Not only alone, but also pressed against each other like half-fallen dominos, since Arnold was slouched and drooling shamelessly against Kevin, shifting Kevin against Connor, who smushed himself against the window. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Con. We’ve been through worse,” Kevin said.

“What?” 

“Your foot’s shaking. We can’t have our fearless leader afraid of a silly little thing like flying.”

Oh, his foot was shaking, but not out of fear. Or not the type of fear Kevin assumed. Kevin squeezed Connor’s knee as a comforting gesture, but it had the opposite effect. His knee, and other parts, began vibrating.

 “I’m going to try to take a nap, OK?” Connor’s voice was a little high-pitched but that was because of the altitude. Altitude could have that effect.

 “Sure thing!”

 He closed his eyes and leaned against the window, then opened them to watch the changing landscape, then closed them when he realized the landscape wasn’t changing all that much. He was never subjected to Arnold’s snores in Uganda. Now Arnold was snoring four feet away, and boy, could he give the plane engine a run for its money. How did Elder Price deal with it?

 He sat up to search for his headphones, only to find Kevin staring at him with one of the biggest Kevin Price smiles he’d ever seen. He almost recoiled from it. Almost.

 “You know, Uganda got pretty scary sometimes. I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through. But there was one beautiful, shining,  beacon of strength that encouraged me to wake up every morning, to persevere, even if he didn’t know how much of an inspiration he was. To all of us.  To me. Do you know who that was?”

 “...Jesus?”

 “You.”

 And then Kevin was closing the distance between them, the mere inches disappearing until there was nothing left except…

 “We’re here!” Kevin sang, shaking his companions’ shoulders. Connor woke with a yelp,  Arnold woke with what could only be described as a donkey’s bray, and Kevin clasped Connor’s hand.

 “We saved Uganda and we can save New York City!” Kevin exclaimed, too triumphant to notice the strange looks he was getting from fellow passengers.

 “Wow! Is this New York City ?” Arnold said, snorting and rubbing his arm across his eyes.

 “No, it’s Jamaica.” Connor said. He did a lot of preliminary research on the “boroughs,” geography, transit lines,  safety, etiquette. Once a mission leader, always a mission leader.

 “How’d we wind up in Jamaica?” There was a slight hint of panic and excitement in Arnold’s voice.

 “Jamaica, Queens. We’re in Jamaica, Queens, New York.” Then, as an after-thought, “City.”

 “So it is New York City ,” Arnold said, confused. Then he looked at Kevin. “You were very comfy, Mission Companion.”

 “Aw, thank you, Mission Companion!” They exchanged affectionate, platonic pats on the shoulder.

 “It is New York City,” Connor continued, gritting his teeth a little too hard, “but not the way most people think of New York City. They think of Manhattan, with all the skyscrapers and Times Square and the Theater District  and Rockefeller Center, the MOMA, the Met, Central Park--”

 “Wow, you sound like me when I talk about Orlando!” Kevin’s eyes twinkled. They always twinkled. It meant nothing.

 “Well,  for all its debauchery,  it is a world cultural center,” Connor said, staring into Kevin’s eyes and trying to figure out if they were normal-twinkling or special-twinkling.

 “Uh, guys, I think we can leave now,” Arnold said. Everyone else had deboarded. “New adventure! Mormons: Lost in New York City!”

 “We’re not getting lost,” Connor said, because he’d studied too hard for them to get lost.

 “Mormons: Found in  New York City!”

 “We’re not getting found, either.”

 Arnold’s huffed. “Mormons--In  New York!”

 “There are already Mormons in New York.”

 “Can we get off the plane?”

 

* * *

Arnold didn’t expect the outdoors to be as stuffy as the airplane especially since they were technically breathing fresh air, or should have been fresh air since they were out in the open. Somehow, this island had the smell of a crowded plane’s recycled fart oxygen.

 Also, everything was grey. In Uganda, everything was brown. Not in a racist way, just in a dreary landscape way. Elder McKinley made it sound like New York City would be bright and cheerful, not...drab.

 “This is fine!” Connor insisted as Kevin squinted at a map. A careless passerby bumped into Kevin, knocking the map from his hand. The wind sent it out of reach. Though Kevin chased after it, Arnold knew not to bother. “We’ll be fine. I’m sure someone will be happy to help us. Excuse me, miss, do you know where to find, uh, one double-u seventy two? Street?”

 She looked them up and down with a withering gaze. “The Dakota? You got a date up there?”

 “Uh, no, we’re Mormon missionaries! From Utah! Just got off the plane, matter of fact!” Kevin flashed one of his brightest smiles. They were staying at some high-powered Mormon politician’s penthouse, which was good because otherwise, they would have to split a studio three ways in a neighborhood where they would most likely get killed or something, that’s what Arnold’s dad told him, even though he survived Uganda. Pretty much conquered Uganda, as a matter of fact. Naba had told him not to say that he conquered Uganda. Sounded too colonialist, she said.

 “Rich people are into some kinky shit,” she said, mostly to herself. “Look, let me give you some advice.” She grabbed Kevin and Connor’s sleeves. “Y’all want to stop and chat, you step off to the side. That way, you don’t get in anyone’s way. Alright?”

 Kevin gasped. “That makes so much sense, actually. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

 “Second bit of advice: don’t be sarcastic when someone’s trying to help you. Ass.”

 “I wasn’t being sarcas--”

 “He wasn’t being sarcastic.” Arnold said, at the same time Connor said, “He’s never sarcastic. He doesn’t have it in him.”

 “Do you all want to get slapped? I will slap you back to your confrields.”

 She looked like she would, too, especially if she thought they were being rude. Kevin looked at her with his big, pleading Elder Price eyes, that heart-melting, door-opening, irresistible look.

 “I don’t know how to impress upon you how earnest and utterly devoid of malice I am.”

 The woman sucked her back teeth and put her earbuds on, turning her back.

 “Take the aysie,” she called back to them.

 “The aysie! Alright! Awesome job We did it!!” Kevin held his hands up for high fives.

 “What’s the aysie?” Arnold asked.

 “Connor, didn’t you look all this up before we left?”

 “I did! I just don’t remember reading about an aysie.” Connor sounded distressed, like he was letting them all down, and fiddled with his tie.

 “The aysie...The A C! LOOK!” Kevin jumped up and down, pointing in front of him: three large blue circles around white letters, A, C, E.

“Oh! Right! The ace! It’s a train!” Connor suddenly remembered: the ace, the 123, the QRS, LMNOP.

 Before Arnold realized it, they were all grabbing each other’s hands and jumping up and down in a circle. In Utah or even Uganda, that would have been fine, except in New York City, they bumped into someone almost as soon as they started.

 “What the fuck are you doing, you crackheads?” For no reason at all, since he already insulted them, the man shoved Arnold. “...all should have been aborted.”

 “Sorry! Uh, sorry!” Kevin called out, but the man was already down the block.

 “That was rude,” Connor gasped. “That was the rudest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

 “What were we doing?” Arnold asked.

 “The aysie!” Kevin grabbed Arnold’s sleeve and they headed down the stairs.

 Buying tickets was a whole other ordeal, and though someone pulled a knife on Kevin, someone else was nice enough to help them buy their tickets. They clasped their hands together and were about to jump up and down again--

 “Wait, wait, let’s not do that anymore.” Arnold said.

 “Good idea!” Kevin and Connor agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

 “Now--how do we get past the turnstiles?”

  
  


 


	3. Concrete Jungle

If they’d been blessed with just a little less Mormon patience, the trek to their apartment would have frayed their nerves. By the time they managed to convince the doorman that they were guests of the Senator--which involved their widest Mormon smiles and a call to the Senator himself--Arnold was ready to collapse.

 

Then they opened the door to their temporary home, and he was suddenly revived.

 

There was something unMormonly about the extravagance that met them. Not that any of them could be called poor, not that their lifestyles could be called anything but comfortable. Even in Uganda, they lived as well as circumstances allowed. But Mormon privilege never amounted to plush wall-to-wall carpeting and a grand piano right in the living room.

 

“This is like a whole house! A whole house in the sky!” Arnold tugged his shoes off and rushed to one of the wall-sized windows, which overlooked the park.  “This is bigger than all of Utah combined! I know what I want to be now.”

 

“A proud, influential Mormon?” Connor offered.

 

“A  _ politician. _ Oh my goodness, is that a TV  _ in  _ the wall? It’s completely flat! Check it out! It’s like we’re on the Enterprise!’

 

“It’s very cool, but remember: we’re here on a mission.” To Kevin, the words sounded like the ghost of Elder Price, even though he’d renewed his faith in God. Hadn’t he? Kevin frowned, pretending to take stock of the silverware drawer. Yes, he’d had a crisis of faith in Uganda, but he was back in the States now. 

 

“And we must keep everything neat and clean,” Elder McKinley added, directing his words at the only one who needed to be reminded,  carefully placing Arnold’s discarded shoes in a mahogany shoe closet. “The Senator was very generous to let us stay in his home, and we need to make good impressions on his neighbors.”

 

“THE FRIDGE MAKES ICE CUBES.”

* * *

 

They used the rest of the day to settle in, each taking the room of one of the Senator’s many children who had long gone off to BYU or their own missions.

 

Kevin hung up the last of his shirts in the walk-in closet and tried to figure out which child’s room he was sleeping in. All personal effects had been removed, if there had been any. Only the basic furnishings were left: a plush queen-sized bed with, a dresser, a night table with a partially worn copy of The Book of Mormon, and it still managed to be grand.

 

It would have been nice to grow up here, Kevin thought, with a pang of resentment he didn’t know he had. He thought he was Mormon royalty in Utah, but he was just the Golden Boy of his small town--not special enough to  _ not _ get sent to Uganda for his mission. 

 

Would a Congressman’s son get special treatment for mission selection? Impossible. They couldn’t pull strings like that. Earthly power and influence would undermine the whole Church. Still, he couldn’t imagine a Congressman’s son getting sent to Uganda--but he never imagined  _ he _ would, either.

 

He screamed into the pillow. Things were supposed to get clearer with experience. Secular thought was unavoidable in New York City, and if he’d been inundated with it earlier, he would have developed an immunity, gotten over it as a young teenager instead of experiencing growing pains at twenty-one years old.

 

Connor was in the next room, but Kevin already knew what he’d say: Turn it off.

 

Arnold was in the room across from him, but all Arnold would do was lend a sympathetic ear and ask questions about his feelings and offer insight and solve  _ nothing.  _

 

There was only one person he could turn to.

 

He threw the blanket off and marched to the dresser mirror. 

 

“Alright, Kevin, tomorrow is a new day. You’re in a new city and you have a new start and a new mission. And you can be just like the Kevin Price you were before you saw a man get shot in the face and a Bible shoved up your butt. Because everything was better then.  _ You _ were better.”

 

He smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. It was an excellent pep talk.

* * *

Arnold was usually the last to wake up, despite strict missionary rules to wake up at 6:30, but for once he woke earlier than both Kevin and Connor. He padded to the kitchen, still half-asleep, and stared into the fridge. The Congressman left the kitchen well-stocked, much to Arnold’s delight, with a whole refrigerator shelf of different types of juice, baskets of fruit and dough rounds on the counter.

 

He could set the table for breakfast! That would show Connor and Kevin that he was Responsible.

 

Except he didn’t recognize a lot of food and wasn’t sure what was breakfast. Like “acai juice.” It was labeled “super-food” and sounded like something from  _ Dune,  _ so obviously he had to try it. Not from the bottle, he reminded himself, even if no one else found out. He opened up all the cabinets, finding more food and eventually dishware. 

 

The problem was, all the glasses were exactly that-- _ glass.  _ Though Arnold never had trouble making himself at home, he hesitated. The guest cups were as fancy as the Cunninghams’ Special Cups, and they could break.

 

Whatever, right? Things broke all the time. Like he and Nabulungi. They were either broken up or on a break, whatever the difference was, while she was at college on a visa and he was in New York on a mission. And it made sense, not struggling through a long-distance relationship and giving both of them an opportunity to find themselves in new environments. Her words, not his. She was right, he couldn’t even argue. 

 

The acai juice wasn’t life-changing. It wasn’t even super.

 

“Gluten-free” apparently meant “flavor-free,” and it seemed that all the good stuff--frozen breakfast pastries, cookies, chips--were gluten-free. Some things were labeled “organic,” but they didn’t taste any different.

 

With an almost supernatural intuition, Arnold assembled lox and cream cheese on a dough round. It was the most amazing thing he ever tasted. That’s what his friends would have for breakfast: bagels, lox, and cream cheese.

 

Skilled experts in hiding how tired they were, Connor and Kevin walked into the kitchen. Arnold had never seen them bleary or bed-mussed. True, Arnold always overslept, but even today, the one time in all of history he woke up before them, he missed the chance to see them in any state other than Brushed and Clean and Dressed For the Day.

 

Oh, that’s what Arnold forgot to do.

 

“I made breakfast!” Arnold exclaimed. 

 

“These look like boring donuts,” Connor frowned. He had a major sweet tooth and a predilection for sugar cereals, though he forced himself to eat old person cereals like Special K Bran Flakes. Kevin, on the other hand, genuinely enjoyed oatmeal.

 

“They’re bagels. I’ve had bagels before. They aren’t great,” Kevin said.

 

“Those were Utah bagels. These are real Jew bagels!” 

 

“I think we can find a nicer way to say that. Like instead of ‘Jew’ bagels, we can call them….’New York’ bagels.”

 

“No offense, but this is gross,” Connor said, pushing his plate away after choking down the tiniest bit of lox. He searched the cabinets and poured himself a bowl of the cereal that most resembled fish flakes with “organic, free-range milk,” whatever that was.

 

Kevin smiled politely and choked down a bagel with blueberry cream cheese.

 

His friends had no taste.

 

“So, uh, you wanna stay local today or--” Kevin asked.

 

“Local’s good,” Connor nodded. They chewed in silence, and then Connor said, “I don’t know what local  _ is _ here.”

 

Would they really go to the doors of some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the wealthiest and most powerful city in the world? They couldn’t proselytize in this building, especially with the Congressman’s reputation at stake, but they’d have a hard time getting into any other building. They had a difficult time with this one, and they were actually allowed to be there.

 

“Why don’t we just hop on the aysie and see where God takes us?” Kevin said.

 

“Yeah!” Arnold and Connor agreed, and then quickly backpedaled.

 

“Actually..."

 

"That may not be the best idea in a city like this.” 

 

“Maybe we should take the day to plan,” Arnold said, unsure how his more devout partners would take the suggestion. On the one hand, it seemed like a reasonable thing to do and they both loved planning--there was a Duane Reade down the block and Connor could get poster-board and markers--but on the other hand, they would lose a day of proselytizing. If they agreed, it would be the closest Connor and Kevin would come to idleness.

 

To his surprise, both Kevin and Connor agreed. It’s not idleness if it allows us to be more efficient tomorrow, Kevin said.

 

Connor went to Duane Reade and came back with posterboard and markers and push pins. They mapped out residential areas, trains, landmarks, parks, schedules--nothing they couldn’t get on their iPhones, but Connor couldn’t use gold Sharpie on his phone. It was productive, if excessive. Connor got to color, Kevin got to plan, and Arnold got to play MineCraft, so it worked out for all three of them.

* * *

The next morning’s routine returned to normal: Arnold overslept. Kevin threw his curtains open and Connor shook him with relentless cheerfulness. 

  
Arnold loved being Connor’s friend. Heck, he loved Connor. But there were times--mornings, specifically--when he wished they still had that cold distance between  Mission Leader and underachieving recruit.

“I’m  _ up _ ,” Arnold grumbled, even though he wasn’t. He just wanted them to stop being such morning people and leave him alone.

  
In all fairness, Connor and Kevin did a lot for Arnold, like throwing his pants and shirt and belt on top of him and tugging him upright with exaggerated, cloying joy. Arnold had the feeling that Connor and Kevin wouldn’t put up with this from any other person, but it was too early in the morning to appreciate that.

Arnold still wasn’t awake when they got on the Tuesday morning rush-hour C train. He blended in with the bleary, dead-eyed commuters, slumped in their seats, except Arnold didn’t have that option to let coffee seep life into him. Only Connor and Kevin had the irritating glow of natural energy.

He followed them up the staircase, as fast as he could, trying not to impede the rush of the busiest people in the world at the busiest hour in the busiest city. He didn't actually care about their jobs, he just didn't want to get yelled at. Two more flights of stairs in the stampede of commuters before the harsh glow of sunlight hit him. He looked around for Kevin and Connor to give him direction, and both of them were gone.

 


	4. Ironically Serious

Somehow, both Arnold and Kevin managed to disappear. Connor walked around the block once, then twice, then one more time for good luck, and then stopped. If anyone were watching, he'd seem like a crazy person. And it was clear: his friends were gone. He wouldn't find them by pacing a hole in the sidewalk.

 In all of their planning, they hadn’t made a designated meeting place. Getting lost wasn’t a possibility, it wasn’t supposed to happen, and it did anyway.

 

A designated meeting place should have been the first thing they planned, regardless of anything else.  Connor almost screamed in frustration. It was a dumb oversight. A rookie mistake. Or hubris...

 

The apartment was the logical meeting place, then. Kevin and Arnold could figure it out--if not Arnold, then certainly Kevin, and hopefully they were together. Connor descended the staircase again and hopped back onto the uptown C. 

 

And if he was looking forward to lying on the plush couch a little bit longer, that was between him and Jesus.  
  


But the huge apartment was boring when it was empty and Connor was left in his least favorite state of being: alone with his thoughts. He enjoyed daytime television but it made him feel guilty--it was so _lurid_ \--and he had to literally turn it off. And sit on the couch. In silence. In a sterile apartment. Where there should be Arnold and Kevin and sounds.

He needed to be somewhere. He needed some sort of stimulation--no, not stimulation. Distraction. Central Park was right outside, and a park was _something._ He could people-watch or stare at the clouds or something.  
  


"Good thinking, Connor," he said. 

* * *

 

Central Park turned out to be a good choice. It was beautiful. Connor could stand on a patch of pure, beautiful grass under a large shady tree and still be surrounded by big-city action. It was the best of both worlds. In the park, the pigeons seemed like normal birds.

 

“Are you going to burst into song?”

 

Connor gasped. He didn’t realize he was being watched by a tall dark-haired man who might have been a little good-looking from an objective standpoint, if you were into pleasantly-featured, symmetrical faces with rugged, chiseled features and a strong jaw.

 

“What?” Connor asked, trying to recover from his surprise.

 

“You look like a Disney prince. The fish one. As a guy.”

 

“Ariel? The Little Mermaid?”

 

“Yeah, like I said, the fish one, ‘cuz of your red hair and--are you OK?”

 

Connor clasped his hands in front of his mouth to stifle his obnoxiously loud laugh. Because mermaids  _ were  _ part fish! It was funny! Kevin would probably take offense to calling Ariel “the fish one” but Connor didn’t care; Ariel was one of Connor’s least favorite princesses.  She shirked her responsibilities to her family and her people!  Who does that? What a--pardon the vulgarity--brat!

 

“I’m fine. What you said was funny, that’s all. ‘The fish one.’”

 

“My name’s Bennett.”

 

“CONNOR. Sorry. It’s still funny.”

 

Bennett looked like he was suppressing either an eye roll or a smile or both. He sat on a bench with a careless defiance that could only be described as Fonzie-like, and Connor sat next to him with a desperation that could only be described as sad.

 

“Are you really Mormon?”

 

“How’d you know? Oh! Right!” Connor looked down at his outfit and name tag. “Yes, I’m really Mormon. Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“I don’t know. Some people here would dress like that as a joke.”

 

“There’s nothing funny about Mormonism,” Connor said, finding the familiar ground of deadly earnestness. Bennett burst out laughing. He  _ clapped.  _ Like Connor was a  _ performer. _

 

“Oh, man. That’s great. Wait, you’re--seriously serious.”

 

“As opposed to what?”

 

“Ironically serious?”

 

“What does that even mean?”

 

Based on how Bennett was looking at him and the way a normal conversation would flow, Connor expected a response. But Bennett just stared at him like he was a magic fish, so Connor had to talk more. 

 

“I am a very serious Latter Day Saint. In fact, I have a copy of the book right here. It’s fantastic. Life-changing. I can’t recommend it enough. I have a copy right here--I said that already--it’s yours if you want it.”

 

“Jeez, you’re worse than the Scientologists.” Bennett frowned at Connor’s hand, outstretched with a copy of the BOOK OF MORMON.

 

Connor was used to door-slams and hecklers and people calling him gay for NO REASON, they didn’t even KNOW HIM,  but when Bennett called him worse than scientists, it stung. Worse than when that stranger told him and his friends that they should have been aborted.

 

Hope never dies, Connor Mckinley, he told himself. No one’s beyond redemption.

 

“Just take it. It’s free.  _ Free. _ ” He emphasized the word with hesitant jazz hands. The book hung between them, and then Bennett caved with a small smile. Connor felt redeemed. No, not redeemed. Redemption was between him and the Lord. 

 

“So you’re giving me homework? What if I want the schpiel?”

 

“The schpiel?”

 

“The whole Do-you-have-a-moment-to-talk-about-Jesus schpiel where we actually talk about this oh-so-amazing book. Do I get that from you or do I have to call another Mormon?"

 

“I get the impression that we aren’t that common ‘round these parts, so why don’t I give you my number?”

 

“So I read this book, and if I like it and I  want to find out more...I call you.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“And if I hate it and it makes me so _ goshdurn _ angry that I have to rant about it to someone who knows what I’m talking about?”

 

“Well, I hope it doesn’t make you mad but if you need to talk about it with someone, it’s my duty to explain the Scriptures...”

 

“And if I’m somewhere in between--”

 

_ “JUST CALL ME!”  _ Connor sent birds scattering. 

 

“Alright,” Bennett smiled, as if that’s what he wanted to hear all along, “I will.”

  
  
  



	5. Going Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin meets a new friend!

So much for the pep talk.  Kevin lost both his companions and was, not to be dramatic, utterly adrift in a strange city, with nothing to anchor him except his  flailing faith . It seemed like there were more people on this one block than in all of the Midwest combined, yet Kevin never felt more lonelydistantconfusedlostsad--

 

“Excuse me, sir? You look lost.”

 

His heart leapt at the salvation of a friendly face, a friendly voice, his own familiar wide smile reflected back at him. It seemed impossible that in this whole mass of people, _ he _ had been singled out. Someone noticed _ him.  _

 

“I am, actually!” It was surely a sign from Heavenly Father, someone reaching out to him when he was about to slip into bad thoughts. 

 

“Why don’t you come inside and we can help you find your way?”

From the outside, he couldn’t tell what the  building was. It seemed equal parts hotel, museum, and church. It said SCIENTOLOGY CENTER, so--museum? He never associated New York with hospitality, but if a museum like this was acting like a tourist center, they must be nice!

 

Except, once he was inside, he saw that it wasn’t a museum, at least not like any he’d seen before. It was hard to tell what it was. A sterile Church?

 

“I’m Marlene. What’s your name?”

  
“Kevin Price. Nice to meet you! What is this place?”

 

“You’ve never heard of Scientology?”

 

“No, I’m not from New York. Actually, I’ve been in Uganda for the last two years, so I’m a bit out of the loop with popular culture.” He’d always been out of the loop with popular culture:  five decades behind in sitcoms, no movies, and why read when only one Book mattered?  Scientology sounded like one of Arnold’s comic books.

 

“And you _ never  _ heard of Scientology? Before that? Nothing?”

 

“...Should I have?” 

 

Her eyes searched him for--something? It was how missionaries were instructed  _ not  _ to observe potential converts. It was distracting and unnerving and obvious , but he still hadn’t established this was a Church, and Scientology sounded, well, sciencey. 

 

“No!” She touched his arm lightly, laughing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel silly or anything. Sometimes not knowing things is better than knowing them.” 

 

Kevin nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I agree.” He found himself cataloging the list of things he knew that he wished he didn’t, like  murder and AIDS and dysentery and doubt , and while his brain flared up with disasters, he nodded to something Marlene said.

 

“Awesome! Follow me,” she said.

 

He had no idea what he agreed to, and maybe, at some point during their walk down long hallways, he should have asked for clarification, but that would mean admitting that he hadn’t been paying attention, which was impolite. Besides, it wasn’t like anything bad could happen. The place looked reputable. It wasn’t some dark, deserted alley, and she wasn’t some shady drug dealer in a trench coat.

 

“So I’m just going to hook these up to you and ask a few questions,” Marlene said, pressing something cold against Kevin’s forehead, then his neck and chest. 

 

“Am I under arrest, officer?” Kevin joked, trying to hide his mild freak out. He didn’t sign up for suctions. 

 

Marlene laughed and took a seat across from Kevin, then fixed him with a serious gaze. It was kind of creepy, to be honest,  the way she flattened her affect once Kevin was strapped down. 

  
“State your name,” she said.

  
  


Rude, too. One of Kevin’s Top Ten was never forget anyone’s name, even if he had to think of an elaborate mnemonic to remember it. For example, Marlene sounded like “Charlene,” a stalker he went to school with, and “stalker” began with an “S” like Scientology, so now he would never forget her. 

 

“Um, Kevin? Kevin Price? I told you th--”

 

“State your age.”

 

“21.” He shifted in his seat. This wasn’t how you learned about other people! 

 

“Do you ever feel lost, hopeless, confused, or sad?” It wasn’t that different than the question she asked outside, before she even got his name (the first time), but it seemed creepy and invasive now. 

 

“Doesn’t everyone?”

 

“Do you ever feel lost, hopeless, confused, or sad?” 

 

“Yeah, I guess, but doesn’t every--”

 

“We will go back to the beginning if you cannot cooperate. State your name.” 

 

“OK, look, this is kind of freaking me out right now.”

 

“Describe a time you felt ashamed of yourself.”

 

“That’s a really personal question, and this situation is making me quite uncomfortable,”  Kevin said, tugging one of the monitors off. 

 

“Sir, you are not allowed to do that.” Marlene stepped in front of the door. 

 

“Holy smokes, this is not the way to talk to people! What are you doing?” He remembered men pointing guns at his head and throwing his stuff out of his suitcase. He felt the same kind of panic now, except this wasn’t Uganda and there weren’t guns and Marlene was a petite 5’1”. Kevin exhaled.

 

“It helps if you at least pretend to be genuinely interested in people and you should never act like a robot collecting data. That’s creepy! And blocking an exit? That just makes me want to leave more.”

 

He didn’t want to make a dramatic exit, although he was perfectly capable of it if he needed to. He would never, ever touch Marlene though, so when he tried to march out they had an awkward pedestrian face-off. She stepped in front of him, he moved right, she moved right, he darted left, she darted left.

 

He sighed, resigning himself to return to his seat. Marlene let her guard down, and in a move learned from his younger siblings, Kevin dashed to the door and ran out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone asks: Yes, I am Jewish.

The smart thing to do would be to find the aysie and go back to the apartment, but Arnold was hungry. He didn’t have time for breakfast and he couldn’t live on granola bars like his companions. New York was filled with food smells, most of it salty and fried, but he sensed something better than pretzels and hot dogs. Arnold bypassed the food carts and tracked down the source of the cured meat smell.

A deli. It didn’t look particularly clean from the outside and it didn’t fit in with the glitz and glamour of the city. It was amazing how across the street stood a testament to capitalism and modern architecture, a towering office complex that reached the sky, and here was a dilapidated sandwich shop which was legally required to boast a C health rating in its window. 

 

The C rating didn’t deter Arnold from the triple-stacked sandwiches and potato squares.

 

“Wow. What is this?” he said. 

 

“You never had pastrami before?” The man behind the counter had some sort of accent Arnold couldn’t identify. Like Russian or something, and he only knew what that sounded like because of Chekov. 

 

“No! I’ve been in Uganda for two years. Cool skullcap!”

 

“Uganda! Then you need a sandwich. On the house. And a knish.”

 

OK, so people cursed him out and shoved him and threw things out him, but the people here--in this store, specifically--were nice. And the food.

 

“What were you doing in Uganda?”

 

“I was teaching the word of Christ,” Arnold said, and then, hesitantly, “and Yoda.”

 

The man’s laugh somehow had a rough, guttural accent, too. He clapped Arnold on the shoulder. “Christ and Yoda. You sound like my daughter. Always, on and on, with a sense of humor like that. That humor, it keeps our people alive, but I can see you already figured that out.” 

 

Arnold nodded, although he wasn’t completely sure what the man meant, and took a bite of his sandwich.  “They don’t have meat like this in Utah,” he moaned. The man laughed again, this time throwing his head back, and clapped Arnold a lot harder on the shoulder. "I suddenly feel--thrifty? And clever. Like I could survive by my wits and my wits alone. And I think I should head back to my apartment." Connor closed his eyes, visualizing his path. "I take the A uptown. I know how to get back!"

"You'll come back, right?"

"Of course. I feel like I belong here." 

"Good. And you'll met my daughter."


	7. That's How You Know

Connor floated back to the Dakota in a trance, laying himself on the living room couch and letting screams about paternity coming from the TV wash over him. The guilt, the drama, who was or was not the father, none of it mattered, he wasn’t paying attention anyway. He met a boy! No, a _ potential convert. That _ was the important part.

 

The way things were going, Bennett might be their only option. Connor would have to be cooler next time, not so desperate to spread the word of Christ. Eagerness turned off detached New Yorkers like Bennett.

 

Also, he had to get rid of any hint of an accent--which he was sure he didn’t have--and vocal affectations, which he was certain he did. Lowering his voice would hide most of his speaking flaws and bring himself closer to Bennett’s level. He was in the middle of practicing the right inflection of “Hello” when the door opened and he shrieked, undoing all his work.

 

It was Kevin, hair ruffled and tie askew, taking Connor back to the time he showed up at the Missionary Center covered in blood.

 

“New York City--is nothing like-- _ The Honeymooners _ .”

 

“Elder Price! What happened?” Connor jolted off the couch and stood frozen. He wanted to rush over to him, comfort him somehow--they were friends now, they were almost strangers last time Kevin suffered something traumatic--but his feet remained firmly planted on the floor.

 

“I’m sick,” Kevin said, marching to his room, leaving Connor fretting where he stood.

 

Luckily, Arnold arrived seconds later.

 

“Hey, Con.”

 

“What’s wrong with Kevin?”

 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t with him. What happened?”

 

“He looked disturbed and then locked himself in his room.”

 

“Yikes,” Arnold said. Kevin was a difficult man to help, and they learned it never did any good to fret over him. “We really botched today up, didn’t we.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that. I got a potential convert.” Connor couldn’t contain his smile even with Kevin suffering in the next room.

 

“That’s great!”

 

“Yep,” Connor said, adjusting his tie. “I went to the park and there was--someone. Interested. It was like Heavenly Father put me in the right place at the right time.” 

 

That’s exactly what it was, wasn’t it? Separating the three companions. Encouraging Connor to head back uptown. Making sure Connor was at the park alone, right where Bennett could see him. Connor’s heart fluttered. Heavenly Father knew exactly what to do.

 

“I’m expecting a call in the next couple of days, because the book takes a while to read, of course, and then we’ll meet up and discuss it and hopefully--hopefully I’ll be able to change someone’s life.”

 

“That’s great. At least one of us had luck today.”

 

“And tomorrow we’ll get more,” Connor nodded with firm resolve. That was why they were there. Spreading the word of Christ and nothing else.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and the views, everyone! I'd really appreciate comments, too, if there's a line that you like or an observation you have. Thank you!

Arnold ate a bagel with salmon cream cheese and Connor sipped acai juice, mouth twisting every time he drank. They both waited for Kevin. 

 

Neither of them said anything about Kevin being a half hour late. Neither of them wanted to. If they acknowledged it, they’d feel obligated to do something about it,  knowing that helping Kevin when he was in one of his moods was like treating a sick bull. They weren’t equipped to do so and there was the risk of the bull either running away or goring them. 

 

And then he appeared, barefoot, sleep-ruffled, and looking so miserable that Arnold didn’t use the opportunity to tease him. He’d finally caught one of his companions looking adorably human and it was a joyless victory. Connor, usually pale, flushed pink at the sight.

 

“I’m sick,” Kevin said. “Go do your thing without me.” Then he turned and went back into his room.

 

“Kevin never gets sick,” Arnold whispered.

 

“Yeah, but everyone gets sick at least once in their life.”

 

“Not Kevin.”

 

“Maybe it caught up to him. Look, he deserves a day off if he wants one, sick or not, you know? And he wouldn’t lie to us so he probably  _ is _ sick.”

 

Arnold couldn’t bring himself to mention that most of their days here had been varying degrees of days off. If he did, it would surely come back to bite him. “Then don’t you think one of us should stay home and take care of him?”

 

Connor’s eyes darted around the room as if the question involved some complicated math to answer.

 

“It would be you,” Connor said, “since you’re his best friend.”

 

Arnold nodded.

 

“But Kevin probably wants privacy. He hates accepting help. Plus it’s more important for us to stay together if we’re doing mission work.”

 

“I guess you’re right.”

 

It was weird how much Connor knew about Elder Price. They didn’t grow up together, weren’t from the same town, and they weren’t mission companions or best friends, but Connor seemed to know as much about Kevin’s habits as Arnold did.

 

“Spending the day with me won’t be so bad, will it?” Connor grinned. They really had gotten close. Connor turned out to be like a more approachable Kevin, and their friendship had the bonus boost of bonding over Kevin being difficult.

 

“We should stay local because Kevin might need us. Why don’t we go to the park? You seemed to have good luck there yesterday!”

 

Connor’s eyes widened, and he seemed to do those mental calculations again.

 

“Maybe a different part?”

 

“OK,” Arnold said. He trusted Connor to make the right decision.

 

“Central Park actually begins at 59th and spans all the way to the 110th, from Fifth Avenue to Central Park West.”

 

Arnold nodded, not sure what that meant, but Connor seemed excited.

 

“It’s over 800 acres,” Connor translated, “which means we have plenty of space to choose from!”

 

Arnold let Connor ramble about New York City as they walked to the park. He never knew Connor loved New York so much. It never came up in conversation, he guessed. Still, if there was an encyclopedia about New York inside Connor, what else didn’t they know about him?

 

“--John Lennon memorial on the west-side entrance of 72nd--”

 

Too bad it wasn’t that interesting. Or practical, for that matter. His knowledge didn’t help them get through the subway system.

 

“--Sheep Meadow on the east--”

 

For the first time, Arnold realized what he sounded like when he talked about _ Star Wars. _


	9. Going Clear

The oldest of eight siblings, Kevin rarely had the house to himself. There was always at least one baby to take care of and two toddlers to entertain, and Jack popping open his door to see what his brother was doing so he could do the exact same thing. By the time all of his siblings were old enough to respect boundaries and not need care-taking, Kevin was shipped off to Uganda to live with over a half-dozen Mormons in a thin-walled rec center. He could count on one hand the number of times he had privacy. This was one of them, and he did what he always did when given the opportunity: he cried. Curled up on his bed, hands across his chest, he let sobs shake him until he dried out.

 

Then he got up to use the Internet.

 

It was 8:00 and he was still in his pajamas, a first for him, while his friends worked and tears soaked his pillows.  He felt like one of those awful millennials the youth pastors always complained about.

 

But even when every other piece of his identity was stripped away from him, Kevin clung to determination, and he was determined to find out what Scientology’s deal was.

 

“Aliens?” he murmured. “Well, that’s not too ridiculous…Oh...that doesn’t sound good. Hmm. Wait, disappearances?  _ What the heck? _ ”

 

Twenty minutes later, he was Googling “cult.”

 

* * *

  
  
Turns out Bennett was a Godsend, not a good omen of future success. No one else would acknowledge them. Few offered them the dignity of a polite nod or apologetic smile. More often than not, they acted like Connor and Arnold weren’t there. At first, Connor thought it was an understandable accident, people had headphones in or weren’t paying attention, but then it happened again.  And again. The one person who talked to them was a purple-haired man in a crop-top who looked him up and down and said “Oh,  _ honey _ ,” and walked away. 

 

A lot of people who looked like Bennett passed by, but none who actually were. That was good and not at all disappointing since he didn’t want to run into Bennett.  It’s why he chose a different section of the massive park. What would Bennett think, seeing him trying to convert people two days in a row like a weird religious fanatic? Like yesterday meant nothing, like encountering each other wasn’t fate, and that Bennett was just another notch on his chalkboard? He didn’t want Bennett to think he was just some crazy person who spent all day in the park handing out books to strangers. Connor had hobbies, like dancing.

 

But, hypothetically, if he did happen to encounter Bennett two days in a row, he’d shelve the whole religion thing so as not to scare him off.  Reading people and knowing when to pull back was an important part of being a missionary.

 

“So, maybe we should regroup, change our tactic?” Arnold suggested after three fruitless hours.

 

They found a bench and sat down, suspiciously eyeing the squirrels that got a little too close. Their gutsiness made Connor more uncomfortable than he would ever let on. Squirrels were supposed to be afraid of people. People were smarter and stronger and could conquer squirrels. People were blessed by God and--well, squirrels should know their place. But these squirrels didn’t.

 

“You think Kevin’s OK?” Arnold asked, interrupting Connor’s staring contest with a particularly daring squirrel.

 

“Of course,” Connor said. He would have said more but his phone rang at that moment and he fished into his pocket to pull it out. Unknown number. “Hello?”

 

“Is this, uh, Elder McKinley?”

 

It was  _ Bennett. _ Like a light at the end of a dark tunnel of disappointment and heartbreak. He always showed up at the right moments, Connor’s atheist guardian angel (but hopefully not atheist for long). Connor shoved his fist between his teeth to bite back a squeal.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Yes! Hi. This is Elder McKinley. You can call me Connor, actually.” Probably not the most proper protocol, but he could eschew formality for the greater good:  attracting Bennett to religion.

 

“OK, so, I’m just about done with this book. I’ll definitely be finished by tomorrow.” 

 

_ He’s a fast reader, _ Connor thought.  _ Or maybe he just really loved the Book of Mormon so much that he flew through it, and I could baptize him tomorrow.  _

 

No, no, Connor wouldn’t pressure him into making a decision that quickly.  People didn’t realize that baptism was a serious decision, not to be done out of desperation or boredom or just because it seemed like everyone else was doing it or out of the misguided belief that it alone would fulfill you. As much as Connor wanted to baptize Bennett, the circumstances had to be right.

 

“Connor? You there?”

 

“Still want to discuss it with me?”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Well, it doesn’t have to be tomorrow if you’re busy--”

 

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

 

Connor was so thrilled they made plans that he didn’t listen to them, just automatically repeated them and said good-bye, beaming.  

“Was that  the potential convert ?” 

 

“Yes,” Connor squealed. “We’re meeting tomorrow to go over the book.”

 

“That was fast. You’re meeting at Starbucks? The coffee shop?”

 

Connor’s eyes widened. He hadn’t even realized.

 

“They have things that aren’t coffee there.” He was fairly certain a store couldn’t survive by selling just coffee. They had to stock pastries or something. Still, he didn’t want to be dishonest. “I would assume they do, I mean.”

 

Arnold shrugged. “At least you have someone. Potentially, I mean.”

  
“Potentially someone, yes,” Connor said.


	10. Helter Skelter

They never returned to work. Sure, they got off the bench and resumed their places, but Connor spent the whole time mouthing what seemed like an entire conversation, completely unaware that there were potential converts passing by him.  He almost got hit by several bikes. 

 

Whoever Connor was meeting must have been special to distract him, but Arnold didn’t ask. Arnold kept trying to interest people in the Book of Mormon, but he didn’t have his golden touch in the States, mostly because everyone had heard of Star Wars.

 

“Uh, you think maybe we should home? Check on Kevin?” Arnold asked.

 

“Kevin.” Connor smiled. “Yes.”

 

“Today was a let-down, wasn’t it,” Arnold said. He gently pointed Connor in the right direction.

 

“Yeah, good day today,” Connor said, eyes bright, and Arnold didn’t talk to him the rest of the way. 

 

Now that Connor was loopy, Arnold hoped that Kevin was feeling better. He was getting better at managing his friends’ mood-swings--Lord, they had so many of them, and  _ he _ was supposed to be the weird one--but he couldn’t handle two at the same time. Usually, they staggered their breakdowns, but, as Arnold discovered when he opened the door, that wasn’t the case this time.

 

Arnold didn’t know what disturbed him more: the fact that Kevin was still in his pajamas surrounded by a mess of paper, or the glazed look in his eyes.

 

“Kevin?” Connor snapped out of his reverie. His voice quivered with concern.

 

“Have you ever heard the term ‘cult’?”

 

Connor gently pried the laptop away from Kevin, but the damage was already done.

 

“Of course we’ve heard of cults,” Connor said.

 

“What’s the difference between a cult and a religion? How do you know that we--that this--that everything we grew up with, everything we believe, isn’t all a cult?” 

 

“Oh, Kevin.” Connor’s voice wrenched, picking a piece of paper off the floor. It was a handwritten list of warning signs of a cult,  in increasingly desperate scrawl, with comparisons to the Mormon church written in gold sharpie.

 

“We obey, unquestioningly, a higher authority, and we’re expected to give some of our income to the Church,  and we’re not allowed to drink coffee! Do you know how crazy that is? Thirteen year olds can legally drink coffee!” 

 

Arnold and Kevin exchanged a glance. 

 

“I guess there’s no way of knowing if we’re part of a cult. It’s up to us to use our discretion. It’s the risk everyone takes when they enter a belief system. I dunno, something like that.” Arnold had never actually thought about it.  Arnold thought Kevin had some sort of epiphany in Uganda about how religious flexibility wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but apparently it couldn’t undo the 20-something years of whatever conditioning Kevin had that Arnold didn’t.

 

Why couldn’t Kevin’s parents let him watch one episode of  _ Star Trek _ ?

 

“So you’d be fine with me renouncing Mormonism? I could just waltz back home and say ‘Hey, guys, I’m godless now, and I did sex before marriage, I’m not tied to any morality, let’s have  _ wine coolers _ !’ They’d throw me off a boat!”

 

“I’m not gonna lie and say everyone back home would be thrilled,” Arnold didn’t mention that, at one time, Kevin would be among the most appalled, “but I’m your best friend before anything else, and if you need to take some time to figure things out, then yes, I’d be cool with it. What  _ happened  _ yesterday?” 

 

“What makes you think something happened?”

 

Arnold surveyed the floor strewn with paper and uncapped markers, the poster-board that had been reappropriated as a list of facts about Charles Manson and Jim Jones, and the laptop open to 40+ tabs of Scientology murders. “Just a hunch.”

 

“I’m just doing some independent thinking. Does that concern you? _ Mission Leader _ ?”

 

“Of course not,” Connor said, stacking the papers into a neat pile. “I’m your friend, too.”

 

Connor tried to hide how his mouth twisted but Arnold noticed and it almost made him angry at Kevin. Almost. But Arnold had never been able to feel anger. As soon as it started, it sublimated into something tame and mild. Strained patience and continued concern, in this case.

 

“Secrets aren’t healthy. You know me. I’m definitely not part of any Mormon cult, if there even is one--” Kevin muttered something about that being exactly what a cult member would say, but Arnold ignored him and continued. “I’m barely Mormon!” 

 

“So if I wanted to just stay here and leech off of your efforts to bring people into this ‘religion,’” Kevin said, insufferable air quotes and all, “you wouldn’t have any problems with that?”

 

“It’s unexpected--I always expected to leech off of you--but sure, it doesn’t hurt me, so why should I care? The right thing isn’t always the easy thing. That’s what, uh, that’s what Han Solo had to learn. Er, Con?” Arnold said, suddenly eager to hand over the mic. Talking people down? Being reasonable? Why did he wind up in that position for the two people who were supposed to be embodiments of responsibility and level-headedness? Arnold hated using his soft, serious voice  _ all the time. _

 

“Yeah, wow, it’s been a huge day. Kevin, if you need to take some time to figure out your head stuff, or heart stuff, or whatever’s going on inside your--er, body--totally, definitely do that. We’re here for you. We both are. Whatever choice you have to make.” Connor flipped through the stack of papers and set them on the table.  “Your crazy cult ramblings are right here. I’m gonna hit the hay. Good talk, everyone!”

 

Connor flitted off to his bedroom. Arnold was tempted to follow Connor’s weirdly conspicuous exit.

 

Luckily, Kevin scrubbed his hand across his face. “Forget it. I’m gonna take a nap.”

 

“Yay, good idea.” It was hard for Arnold to hide his relief. “Remember, tomorrow’s a L--new day.”

  
  



	11. Wild Mormon Rumspringa

Kevin woke up at four in the morning feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. New day. Really, his first day here was supposed to be a new day, but that didn’t work out, so he needed another new day. A new new day! This one was it!

 

Of course, Connor and Arnold might be hung up on certain events that transpired yesterday. At least Arnold would. Connor was on the same page as Kevin when it came to pushing things down and away. 

  
To show them he was back to normal he got dressed and was cooking pancakes when the others came to the living room.

 

“Last night sure was crazy, wasn’t it,” Kevin said. Get it out of the way quickly. “Boy. I don’t know what got into me. It’s not gonna happen today. So, what’s on the agenda?”

 

There was complete silence as Kevin stacked the last pancake on the plate and set it in front of his companions.

 

“I’m speaking with a potential convert,” Connor said.

 

“Cool! When? Where are we meeting them?”

 

Connor smiled apologetically. “It’s kind of a one-on-one session.” 

 

“Great! Awesome, Con! So Arnold and I have a bit of catching up to do. Not that it’s a competition. I mean, it kind of is, if we make it one--”

 

“Kevin,” Arnold said, and then he didn’t follow up with anything which made it seem like a means to get him to stop talking instead of getting his attention. Or Arnold forgot what he was going to say! Also an option.

 

“So you and me like the old times!” He winced and quickly changed his wording. “Except new.”

 

“I think you and I should stay here to talk about things,” Arnold said. “There’s a time and a place to keep things secret and hidden, and then there’s a point where you have to trust your friends and share.”

 

“Oh boy, look at the time! I’m going to be late!” Connor said, standing up and rushing out the door, leaving Kevin and Arnold staring at each other across the table, sitting in silence, waiting for the other one to speak. 

 

Between Kevin’s stubbornness and Arnold’s reluctance, they would stare at each other for hours.

  
  


* * *

Bennett wasn’t going to show up.

 

OK, Connor was an hour early. There was no reason Bennett would be an hour early, too. He had the careless, n’er-do-well air of a person who would arrive five minutes late. Not that the dangerous, bad boy vibe sent thrilling tingles through Connor’s chest.

 

He checked his watch. He could have stayed with Kevin and Arnold for a little while longer, but...but what if he missed his appointment with Bennett and made a bad impression? The trains could be delayed, he could get lost... Better to be an hour early than to confront severe emotional issues with your friends and be late. 

 

Kevin’s emotional problems would still be there when he got back.

 

They’d agreed to meet at the Starbucks on the corner of 50th and 8th, which Connor didn’t think much of until he got to the corner of 50th and 8th and saw that there were two identical Starbuckses, across the street from each other.

 

Connor could text Bennett, sure, but that would mean admitting ignorance of some special New York code. He was sure it was an ironic New Yorker test and he was determined not to fail. Connor just picked one at random--there was a 50-50 chance of being right--claimed a table, and sat with a cup of rapidly cooling coffee. He obviously couldn’t drink it and didn’t want to because  it smelled bitter and, somehow, black, and made his nose scrunch up when he lifted the lid to smell it. 

 

He was starting to learn how New Yorkers thought,  and a lone Mormon in a coffeeshop would be the exact type of thing they’d tweet to their friends. But he didn’t let that get to him.

 

Cold coffee was  _ sad. _

 

He almost didn’t notice Bennett pull out the chair across from him and drop into the seat, long legs encroaching on Connor’s sparse and neat space. Bennett might not have been that much taller than Kevin but he took up a lot more space.

 

“Hey,” Bennett said. 

 

“Hey.”

 

“Thanks for meeting me here. Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

 

“Nah, just got here a couple of minutes ago.”

 

“You know, it’s funny, I didn’t realize there were two Starbuckses right across from each other. Isn’t that crazy? Late-stage capitalism, I guess. I don’t even like Starbucks.”

 

Connor nodded. Coffee and late-stage capitalism were way out of his conversational depth.

 

“All right. So I read the book.”

 

“And?” Connor perked up.  _ He read the Book he read the Book! Actually! Read! The Book!  _

 

Unless Bennett lied which was a possibility that Connor refused to entertain.

 

“It was a little, ah, slow at times.”

 

“That’s understandable. Joseph Smith sure isn’t Nora Roberts.” The reference left Connor’s mouth before he could evaluate it. Maybe he should have used Stephen King or Walt Whitman instead. Whitman was manly and straight, right? “But did you feel anything?”

 

“Bored.” Bennett shrugged. “I don’t know, like, first, you got two chapters verifying that it’s true? And then you’d think the action would pick up when people go to war but that was a snoozefest, too.”

 

OK, so he definitely read the book. 

 

“I just don’t see the difference between this book and me getting a bunch of my friends together to write some bullshit. Why should I believe that the angel Moroni existed more than, say, Luke Skywalker?”

 

Connor’s stomach twisted. Why did he have to use  _ Star Wars  _ as an example, of all things? 

 

Bennett sighed and looked at Connor, like he just remembered he was talking to someone--and maybe he had been so caught up in his rant that he actually had forgotten. Connor had had those moments before, when the entire Church was in perfect harmony and all he knew was the transcendent feeling of community, or when he rang the right doorbell to the right house with the right person waiting inside, welcoming and receptive, and he knew he changed someone’s life forever with the Book of Mormon. 

 

In a way, Bennett was as passionate as any missionary, just in the opposite direction. And more authentic. Passion and authenticity were beautiful, heavenly things, and the Book of Mormon had unlocked that in Bennett. So that was  _ something _ . How long ago was Connor’s first reaction to the Book of Mormon? Did he ever  _ have _ a first reaction? No, because he grew up in a Mormon household. He knew the Book of Mormon before he could read. If someone handed him this book, twenty years into his life, wouldn’t he respond the same way as Bennett?

 

He didn’t know. 

 

“If it means something to you,” Bennett continued, subdued, “that’s fine. I’m not gonna trash your faith. I went through that phase. It’s a dick move. But this religion thing? It’s not new to me.”

 

“It’s not new to anyone.” Connor thumbed through the pages of his holy book without looking down, desperate to touch it, to feel it, to let it hold him in place. “That’s what makes it so cool. It precedes all of us.” 

 

“God, you’re cute. I mean, I grew up Catholic. Very Catholic. Like, ‘Harry Potter is Satan, gays burn in Hell’ Catholic.” 

 

Connor’s stomach swirled slightly. Cute. Catholic. Gays burn in hell. Bennett called him _cute._ Connor’s throat dried up at the word. Luckily, Bennett wasn’t done talking. He was chattier than he was at the park. It would have thrilled Connor if it didn’t seem like Bennett were ill at ease, squirming in his chair so that his denim brushed against Connor’s pants.

 

“And that’s kind of why I can’t get into it, ‘cause I spent years of my life believing that stale crackers were the literal body of Christ, and this book, I’m sorry, it was even worse Bible fanfic. It’s like being an old-school Star Wars fan, like sitting through the original trilogy and having problems with  _ Return of the Jedi,  _ and then flash-forward to  _ Phantom Menace _ and wow, so much worse.

 

“Anyway, I decided this religion stuff wasn’t for me a _ long  _ time ago. The hypocrisy of it all. Why does God care so much if I sleep with a guy instead of a girl when people are dying?”

 

“It’s just, you know, His plan.” They were trained to have a better pitch about God’s plan, and Connor usually sold it. Selling it involved a lot of turning off-- turning off logic, turning off feelings, turning off images of distended stomachs and rotting corpses.

 

“Then it’s a  _ shitty plan _ .” Bennett raised his voice as if confronting God himself with his fury. If it were possible for Connor to get paler, that’s exactly what he did, and Bennett backed off. “Look, I gotta be straight with you.”

 

“Oh no, please don’t,” Connor muttered under his breath. He might have been making a joke, or being sarcastic, or referring to something else entirely; he wasn’t sure. 

 

“I wasn’t actually interested in Mormonism. I was interested in  _ you. _ And I thought that maybe there was a chance I could convince you to, I don’t know, grab a drink or something.”

 

“We’re at a coffee shop.”

 

“An  _ alcoholic _ drink.”

 

“Mormons aren’t allowed to drink alcohol.” Or coffee, for that matter, a fact that Connor was grateful Bennett didn’t point out. 

 

Bennett ran his hand through his long, already unruly hair, blinking heavy dark eyelashes at Connor. He seemed tired? Frustrated? Distressed? Or was it just his heavy-lidded eyes? “This could never work. I get it. You don’t need to remind me. It was wrong to even try. I’m sorry. It’s just--you don’t even get a rumspringa or something?”

 

“A what?”

 

“Like when Amish kids are allowed to go to Vegas for a week to try meth and see if they like it more than churning butter?”

 

Amish kids got to do that? “Oh, yeah. Of course we get that. We’re not a cult. We’re allowed to challenge our conventions. Except Mormons call that--sinning.”   
  
“What was that?”

 

“Springing? We call it springing, and yeah, that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m allowed to do whatever I want, even um, like, do an alcohol or lie or kiss a man if I wanted to! To see if I like that lifestyle more than living under the holy light of God and Jesus.” His laugh was a little too loud and piercing.

 

“Is that something you would be interested in?” Bennett raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, returning to his chill first-impression self. “Doing an alcohol?”

 

“Yeah! Why not! That’s the point of sinning, right? I mean, springing.”

 

“I’m confused. Are you on rumspringa or are you on a mission?”

 

“Both.” The lies came so easily that Connor almost cried.  His voice certainly cracked, but Bennett didn’t seem to notice. “We do a joint rumspringa-mission because putting them right next to each other is the best  way to find out what we like more, you know?”

 

“Why didn’t you bring that up before?” Bennett asked, lips quirking. 

 

“I don’t know. I guess I’m still not completely comfortable being on rumspringa.”

 

“Oh, that explains it. I was going to ask--”

 

“Ask what?”

 

“About the coffee.” 

 

“Mmhmm,” Connor said, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Rumspringa.”

  
“Er, awesome, but hot coffee’s better hot.”   



	12. The Seismologists

The stare-down was awful. Arnold could deal with uncomfortable situations--heck, he was the expert at both creating and not noticing them--but the silence stretched and stretched. Kevin’s smile never wavered. Time stopped. Arnold knew what it was: a Groundhog’s Day-esque situation where time froze instead of repeated until he could learn to be a good friend.

 

“We should talk,” Arnold said, tentatively breaking through the time-freeze.

 

“About?”

 

“The whole, you know.” He didn’t know, actually, but maybe he could trick Kevin into the conversation.

 

“Oh, you mean the whole thing with the, haha, that was so weird but I told you already, it’s not a big deal. So I vote that we head out into this wonderful city with this even better Book and we change some people’s lives!” Kevin smiled, presenting a Book of Mormon that he conjured into his hand. Out of nowhere. Full-on charmer.

 

“Really,” Arnold said. “You really want to do this.”

 

“Of course I do!”

 

“All right.” Arnold exhaled. What was the point of forcing an issue that neither of them wanted to talk about? He patted his pockets. “I just need to get my--”

  
Another Bible materialized in Kevin’s hand. “Here you go!”

 

“OK,” Arnold said, staring at the book. It was official. They couldn’t turn back now. “I know a place.”

 

* * *

 

Preaching to a friend, or a kind of friend, or, most accurately, the avuncular proprietor of a sandwich shop, was just the type of low-pressure, casual thing Kevin needed to do.

 

Or maybe it was what Arnold needed. It wouldn’t be like proselytizing at all, it would just be hanging out in a deli. And he could get pastrami.

 

“A delicatessen?” Kevin asked, staring up at the sign. “We’re preaching the word of Christ in a sandwich shop?”

 

“Yeah, trust me, everyone’s really nice,” Arnold said, tugging the door. Nothing.  

 

“I think it’s closed.”

 

“Opens at 12.” Arnold frowned. That meant an hour of wandering New York City, an hour of rejection, an hour of potentially disturbing stimuli for Elder Price. There was no way Arnold could put on kid gloves without Kevin noticing. “Uh, we could always…”

 

The door hit Arnold in the face before he could make up a lie. Then a hand grabbed his shirt and pulled him inside so quickly that he couldn’t react. It was exactly what his parents warned him about: in New York, hands reached out to grab you, and then parts of you were found in the river if your loved ones were lucky enough to have closure.

 

“Arnold! You’re back!”

 

“Aardvark!” Arnold said, gesturing for Kevin to join them inside.

 

“ _Avram._ I’m just setting up but you’re welcome here any time. Day or night. You’re mishpuchah! You need to meet my daughter. When are you going to meet my daughter?”

 

Kevin glanced at Arnold with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Uh, I don’t know. This is my friend, Kevin. We were wondering if you had a second to uh--”

 

“This place smells _fantastic_ . Why, I don’t know why they just don’t bottle the smell of--” He glanced at the menu, pressing a fist against his mouth. “--pay-strahm-i and, oh boy, kay--Is that kay-en like _knife_?”

 

Avram laughed and clapped his hands together. “You’re a duo! A comedy duo! I love it! A Jew and a feggeleh pretending to be Mormons! Oy, why didn’t I think of that!”

 

“A--what? No, we’re real Mormons!” Kevin said, appalled.

 

“Oh, that commitment. I love it. You could be on the Youtube.”

 

“We have _real_ copies of the Book of Mormon and we’d love to tell you about the _real, true_ story of Joseph Smith.”

 

“You, I could believe you’re Mormon. But you? I’d know a Jew anywhere.”

 

“Oh wow, that’s offensive. I think,” Arnold said, not that he was offended personally, but on behalf of the Jews.

 

“Sit, sit. Do your set. Have a knish. First of the day.”

 

“Alright,” Kevin said, eyes staying on the knish a little too long. He would choke down barbed wire to be a polite guest, which was a shame, because Arnold really wouldn’t mind finishing his knish if Kevin didn’t like it. “So--oh, it’s mashed potatoes--I’m sure you heard of the Old Testament and the New Testament, but did you know there’s a third part of the Bible?”

 

Avram burst out laughing, which would have seemed forced and mean if Arnold didn’t know it was genuine and good-natured. Well, at least that’s how it was intended. Kevin didn’t know that, and he distracted himself by picking the skin off the knish. Blasphemy.

 

Avram stopped laughing long enough to say “The Bible 3: Too New, Too Testament?” and then started laughing even louder.

 

“No, no, that wouldn’t work. It’s The Bible 33 ⅓,” Arnold said. His quick check-in glance at Kevin was a mistake, because he saw Kevin’s death glare. Oh no. He didn’t realize this would be an allegiance thing.

  
Avram’s eyes bulged with approval. “Yes! _Naked Gun._ Excellent film. OK, pitch this Bible sequel.”

 

Kevin set his fork down and looked at Avram. Kevin was good at that whole direct eye contact thing. Arnold looked at people’s eyebrows. “Long ago, in ancient upstate New York, there was a prophet named Joseph Smith. One day, the angel Moroni appeared to him and told him of holy golden plates buried right in his backyard. They told the story of the Prophet Mormon and his people, and Jesus Christ.”

 

“Is that what Mormons really believe?”

 

“Yes,” Kevin glared at Avram, and then snuck his glare towards Arnold, “it’s what _we_ really believe.”

 

A lightning bolt of laughter accompanied thunderous clapping. Arnold made the same mistake again: he looked at Kevin. Kevin always fielded insults and jokes with a smile and a positive attitude. He’d never been _thrown._ He’d never looked _offended._

 

“This is great! Great for those Mormons. If you can’t laugh at every stupid religion, then you’re no better than those--whaddaya call, those--” Avram snapped his fingers at Arnold as if it would conjure the word he was looking for. And Arnold had the sinking feeling that he knew. He knew where this was going, he knew what Avram wanted to say, and Arnold grimaced and shook his head, just slightly, hopefully enough that Avram would see and Kevin wouldn’t. _No_ . “Those ones with that building on 46th.”  Arnold sliced his finger across his neck. _Cut it out._  “Not that rap musical. The Seismologists!”

 

Arnold felt like he marched off a cliff and took Kevin with him.

 

“What do you mean?” Kevin whispered.

 

“Oh, come on, you know. If you take a belief too seriously, you wind up nutso, suing everyone who makes a joke. At least Mormons don’t have a Tom Cruise or a John Travolta. They have a, what’s it called, the one who ran for President. Oh, and that Congressman.  I think he’s a--” Avram dangled his hand at the wrist. “Now, there’s nothing wrong with being a, you know--” he gestured to Kevin for some reason--”but when you’re talking about it being a sin and an abomination and then you go to an airport bathroom to--” He put his index finger through a hole in his fist.

 

“OK, look, the Congressman isn’t gay and we actually are Mormon,” Arnold said. It was time to be a united front and never, ever let his best friend down again. “We’re Mormon, this isn’t a skit or a set or a joke. It’s what we honestly, truly believe. It might not mean anything to you, but it means a lot to us. Also, the Congressman is married to a woman and has ten whole children. Ten. That’s super straight.”

 

Kevin’s face was still a pale queasy green but his expression was unreadable. No gratefulness, no horror, just blankness. Avram’s face was even more inscrutable, the minute levels of glow in his eyes. His face was so blank that he either didn’t hear Arnold or willfully ignored him. Then he slapped his hand on the table and roared.

 

“ANDY KAUFMAN! You’re like the next Andy Kaufman.Your delivery--brilliant. People will believe anything you say. Mormon! Let me see this book.” He plucked it out of Kevin’s hand and flipped through it. “Ah, it’s a real thing, not a prop. Pretty good. Pretty, pretty good.”

 

He handed it back to Kevin, who had a pen in his hand. Where did that come from?

  


“ _You_ keep it. It’ll be a collector’s item when we’re famous comedians ,” Kevin smiled and signed his name with a flourish. The clouds had passed and his smile showed off his perfect orthodontia. Arnold had no idea what happened. He’d been at the table the _entire time_ and missed some mountain-moving, earth-shaking, Elder-Price-cheering moment.

  
“Listen,” he said, pointing a finger at Arnold, “you need to meet my daughter. This week. No excuses. You come to my house Friday night for Shabbat. And you.” He turned his finger and his gaze to Kevin. “I have a nephew.”

* * *

“We did good today, Elder, and you know what? I think we earned the day off. I’m gonna take off my tie.” Kevin unknotted his Windsor while he was speaking, slid the tie off his collar and slipped it into his pocket in one fluid motion. The Mormon equivalent of streaking. Arnold tried not to look aghast. Kevin smiled expectantly at him until Arnold figured out what he was waiting for. What he was silently beckoning him to do.

 

Arnold swallowed and reached for his tie. He never achieved Elder Price’s perfect full Windsor so his tie usually came off as easily as a shedded snake skin--was usually loose by the afternoon, in fact--but presently he was having trouble slipping his finger through the knot. When he tried, the knot just got tighter, riding against his neck.

 

“I’m choking,” Arnold gasped before his air supply was cut off completely. Kevin’s much thinner, much more adept Boy Scout fingers worked the tie off.

 

“Are you OK? You seem weird today.”

 

“I’m fine,” Arnold sputtered once he could speak. He wanted to mention how many days they’d already taken off. Yesterday, he’d been alarmed, but not enough to say anything to Connor. Now it was an epidemic and it was his duty to stop it.

 

Except…

 

Why ruin Kevin’s good mood? If Kevin were willing to take a break, who was Arnold to question it? Especially when he was going through all this weird stuff and seemed to be getting better for reasons unknown. Walking around the city might be therapeutic and get them back on track.

 

But without Connor? It was unfair that he and Kevin should enjoy the city Connor loved while Connor dutifully preached the holy word to some stranger, all by himself, with no partner to help him.

 

Kevin tugged Arnold’s sleeve. “Oooh, look! A comedy cellar! Maybe Avram was right. We should do comedy!”

 

“Maybe we should just go home,” Arnold said, feeling his breath quicken again. He didn’t want to spiel on stage in front of a dozen strangers right now. Or ever, really. Teaching in Uganda was an easy, intimate chat amongst friends and equals, once Arnold got over his stage fright. They were all literally on equal ground. But comedy? You’d think the person on the stage would have all the power but no, the power belonged to the masses in the pit, ready to devour him. “Or find somewhere else to spread the word.” Arnold frowned, remembering that they were one Book short, the other one signed with Kevin’s name--was that desecration?--and soaking the smell of pastrami. Maybe it had been a clever ploy to get Avram to keep the Book of Mormon, look it over.

 

“There’s a whole world in this city. Are we going to let it go to waste? It’s the center of art, history, cult--DISNEY STORE!” Kevin snatched Arnold’s sleeve again. It was a compromise.

  



	13. The Duality of Gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews and kudos! This fic is mostly completely. I look forward to finishing it and posting it here. It will be the first long-form fic I ever finished. :)

It turned out that “thrift store” meant “exorbitantly priced boutique.” 

 

But Connor didn’t have a choice. He needed a new outfit. He couldn’t meet Bennett three times in a row dressed like a dork, especially not on a date. A gay date. 

 

So he went to a thrift store figuring it meant, you know, _thrift_ , but it actually meant $300 for a pair of jeans. _Ripped,_ washed-out jeans. How much would they cost of they were _whole_? 

 

And even after finding a more reasonably priced store (though still obscenely expensive by Midwestern standards), Connor couldn’t find anything to wear. He stared at the limp mound on his bed. All that money, and for what? A pile of unwearable clothes. He didn’t know what to wear on a normal date, let alone a gay date.

 

“Wear the blue sweater. It’ll bring out your eyes.”

 

Connor froze. Was that Kevin? With an opinion on his eyes? Not that it mattered at this point. He couldn’t do anything with Kevin, not that he’d want to. That ship sailed. He had a date with Bennett! Adultery was worse than being gay and gay adultery? Worst of all. Plus, he was barely even interested in Kevin anymore. It was just a reflex, the ghost of lingering feelings. 

 

Then he turned around. It was just Arnold.

 

“Thanks,” Connor said. 

 

“So is this for a  _ daaaate _ ?” Arnold sang.

 

“Um, yeah, I guess you could say that.” He sorted through the clothes. Bennett wore a lot of black. Maybe black was gay. No, rainbows were gay. Maybe black was New York. Or Catholic.

 

“Who’s the lucky person? You found the only other Mormon in this whole big city?”

 

“She’s, uh, she’s not exactly Mormon…”  _ and she’s a guy. _ “She’s kind of the opposite, actually.” 

 

Connor was not ready to come out yet, and to Arnold, of all people.

 

But why not Arnold, of all people? He cared the least about religion. Kevin said gay thoughts were OK as long as they weren’t acted upon, but Connor got the impression that Arnold wouldn’t care if he saw two guys making out right in front of him.  

 

And Arnold would be less inclined to judge Bennett’s agnosticism (atheism? Was there a difference? Did God even care if there was?) or Connor’s wrong-side-of-the-tracks fling.

 

If Connor had to come out to anyone, why wouldn’t it be Arnold? 

 

“What’s the opposite of Mormon?” Arnold asked, furrowing his brows. “Muslim? Buddhist?” 

 

“Atheist. Agnostic?” Connor wasn’t sure which Bennett was, or if there was a difference, or if not having a religion was worse in God’s eyes than being Muslim or Jewish or Catholic. “No religion at all.” 

 

“Ooooooh,” Arnold said,  with the neutrality of deflating tires. “Woooooow.”

 

Arnold was surprised. Not shocked, not horrified, just surprised. Maybe he hadn’t registered the severity yet. 

 

“Lots of  _ Star Wars _ references, though! I think you’d like her.” Connor winced. Arnold would never meet her, because she didn’t exist, and Arnold would never meet him, because--

 

Because--

 

Because maybe he  _ would _ freak out.

 

An atheist OR a guy would be OK, but both? That might be too much even for Arnold.

 

“Cooool,” Arnold said. Connor realized he was lengthening his vowels to fill up more time with fewer words. “It’s good that you found, uh, someone. A girl.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize--after you and Naba--”

 

“That? That’s fine! I’m fine about that. We broke up. That doesn’t mean you can’t get a--girlfriend.” 

 

“She’s really hot,” Connor said. That sounded inappropriate. “I guess.  She has a body. But in a classy way. ” He felt sick, objectifying this imaginary woman. 

 

“That’s good. I, too, may also have a date with a woman.”

 

“That’s awesome! Who?” 

“She’s the daughter of a guy who owns a sandwich shop. Ooh, we could double date!”

 

“Hah! Yeah! Be careful, I might steal her!” They both laughed about that until Connor  realized his laugh was shrill, bordering on hysterical.  He cleared his throat before asking, “What’s her name?”

 

“I don’t know yet. We haven’t met.” 

 

“Oh, that’s cool.” Connor couldn’t judge.  He didn’t know that much about Bennett, just that he used to be Catholic and was now gay and hated the Book of Mormon and--Connor felt acid rise in his throat.

 

“Are you OK?”

 

“Mmhmm,” Connor said, trying to swallow his bile.

 

“Well, good luck on your date!” Arnold said.

 

“You too!”

 

* * *

  
  
  


Blue sweater, as Arnold suggested, and black leather pants, which seemed to be part of the gay uniform. Both were hot and itchy, but at least the sweater was breathable. Shifting in a plastic subway seat, Connor wished he’d worn khakis, but no, he had to commit to this whole gay thing,  no matter how much it suffocated his bottom.

 

Standing  _ had _ to be more comfortable. He bolted out of his seat so suddenly that people would have looked at him if they weren’t already staring.

 

_ Heavenly Father, please-- _

 

Could he even pray for Heavenly Father’s help when he was betraying Him? Were he and God on a break?

  
He shifted in his leather pants. There were so many  _ children _ on the train. How many more stops? Not that the pants situation would be different aboveground. 

 

Khakis. He should have worn khakis. Khakis were sexy, too.

 

“This station is--The next stop is--”

 

Connor pressed a hand to his heart.  He wanted to fly out of the train and soar up the steps, and he almost did until the uncomfortable rub reminded him that he could only shift, very carefully, smiling as hobbled old ladies outpaced him.

 

One thing Connor didn’t take into account was how hot a bar was. He didn’t know, but he should have thought it through: dozens of bodies pressed together in a small space, crowding together to hear each other over loud thudding noises. It was nothing like the community youth center.

 

“Oh my goodness I love it,” the bartender cooed. “The ironic juxtaposition of the librarian sweater and leather pants? Brill. You’re Andy Warhol reincarnate.” 

 

“Thanks?” Connor said. He saw Bennett emerge from the mass of bodies. 

 

“Is Dylenn bothering you?” Bennett asked, putting an arm around Connor. “Don’t be a bitch, Dylenn.” 

 

Even though Bennett dropped the b-word, it seemed casual, even friendly, and Dylenn smiled when he said, “I’m not being a bitch! You’re the bitch!”

 

“It’s OK, really,” Connor said, eyebrows screwed up in bewilderment. 

 

“No poaching him!”    
  


“No promises!” Dylenn called after them. 

 

“Is this place OK?” Bennett asked, once they were settled at a table. “We could go somewhere else if you want.  There’s an Applebee’s uptown, ” Bennett suggested, choking on the word “Applebee’s.” 

 

“No, this is fine. This is great.” Going into strangers’ houses put him in far more uncomfortable situations.  Doomsday preppers, conspiracy theorists, hoarders, creepy doll collectors, food hoarders, meth labs, animal hoarders… lots of hoarders in the Midwest.  “I like the troll doll on the guillotine.” He didn’t, actually. It was just the first thing that caught his eye.  Other than the taxidermied hedgehog, of course, which he  _ really _ didn’t like.

 

“Let’s do the basic first date talk. Any siblings?”

 

“Five,” Connor said. “I’m third out of six.” Six kids usually provoked a reaction in the secular world, but it was a modest number compared to the many families that had eight or nine kids. Arnold was the only only child he knew. He expected Bennett to spit his drink in surprise, scream “What the eff?” and storm away. Instead, he nodded. 

 

“Much the same with Catholics. I’m fifth of seven.”

 

“Seven! Wow!” Connor felt the heat rise to his face. How immodest would it be to slide his sweater over his head? It wasn’t like he was stripping or anything. He was wearing a collared shirt underneath. He decided to go for it.

 

Bennett smirked. “The duality of gay, huh.”

 

“Um, what?”

 

“The collared shirt and the leather pants. Provincetown gay and Village gay.” 

 

Connor smiled pleasantly, but helplessly.

 

“Mermaid Parade and  _ Modern Family _ .” 

  
What was it with Bennett and mermaids? He didn’t strike Connor as the mermaid type, whatever that was.  Connor made his smile more pleasant and more confused.

 

“Like, the gays that hold down desk jobs and have vacation homes in New England and either adopt babies from China or ask their lesbian friends to be surrogates. That’s your sweater. And then the party gays. The pants.” 

 

“There are two types of gays?”

 

Bennett raised his eyebrows over his beer. “There’s more than that.”

 

“You’re a mermaid one, I guess.  And I’m the lesbian surrogate from New England type ,” Connor muttered. He should have realized earlier. They were too different; it would never work. C onnor was a burden, a baby, a wide-eyed Midwestern corn-boy, not a fun time, which is obviously what Bennett wanted. Or worse: he was a joke. Date the weird Mormon guy for a laugh and then give him a wedgie. 

 

“It’s very  _ West Side Story _ , isn’t it?”

 

This time, Connor didn’t try to hide his utter despair with his usual facade of pleasantness.  He knew what came next: the familiar refrain of ‘You never heard of whatever?’ Never read  _ Harry Potter?  _ Do you think it’s, like, Satanic or something? You never watched  _ Breaking Bad?  _ Oh, come on, you’re kidding, you don’t know what a condom is? 

 

“Oh, we are so watching  _ West Side Story.  _ But first, you wanted to try some booze, right? Are you sure?”

 

Connor wasn’t sure what just happened. He nodded. Yes, he was sure he wanted to “try some booze,” another lie. Bennett flagged a waitress and ordered an appletini. 

 

“An appletini,” the waitress repeated.

 

“Yes.”

 

“An  _ appletini _ .”

 

“ _ Yes. _ ” Bennett glanced at Connor, who was back to smiling pleasantly again, and added, “Heavy on the apple.” 

 

“Got it, boss.” The waitress smiled at Bennett, then at Connor, and walked away. 

 

“It’s _ Romeo and Juliet _ ,” Connor continued, as if there’d been no  appletini interlude , “but it takes place in 1950’s New York City, and instead of the Montagues and the Capulets, it’s the Sharks and Jets. Whites and Latinos.  And they fight with ballet. ”

  
It took Connor a moment to orient himself. Had he missed all that from the exchange with the waitress? He’d never learn New York City bar code. He just wasn’t cool enough. “Are you talking about  _ West Side Story  _ or--?”

 

Bennett nodded solemnly. “ Required viewing. I don’t make the rules. ”

 

They were interrupted, yet again, by a  deadringer for a newscaster/talk show host/sex symbol, except twenty years younger . “Bennett! You haven’t been here in  _ ages _ . Thought it was getting too tame for you. Who’s the ginger?”

 

“Connor, this is Jayden. Jayden, this is Connor.”

 

“Hi,” Connor said, extending a hand.

 

“Out-of-towner? Let me guess. Utah.”

 

“Yeah! How’d you know?” Connor hid his recoil. Utah was a hilarious joke to New Yorkers. The fact that he was so obviously from there did not bode well for him.

 

“Can tell another from a mile away.” To Connor’s amazement, Jayden lost his lisping lilt--the same one the bartender had, the same one Connor sometimes slipped into if he wasn’t careful, come to think of it-- and slipped into a Midwestern baritone. “Idaho. We’re practically neighbors.”

 

They chatted a bit, Connor glowing with the safety of a stranger bringing him back to the familiar, reminding him that it existed, and then Jayden patted his shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to your date.”

 

The waitress slid a drink in front of him. It was neon green, loaded with floating red circles, and topped with an umbrella. She and Bennett exchanged a private smirk, an inside-joke smirk, before she left. Nothing malicious. Or at least, Connor hoped it wasn’t. Oh no. What if they spiked the drink? That was just the sort of punishment he’d deserve for pursuing this lifestyle.  This dark bar, troll guillotine, pierced orifice lifestyle.  He knew how it ended. 

 

OK, maybe he didn’t know the specifics about how it ended, but he knew it was bad.

 

“Isn’t liquor supposed to be brown?” 

 

“Some. Most. That drink is kind of, uh, I don’t want to say ‘girly’ because that’s gender prescriptivist bullshit but it’s kind of… yeah, girly.” Bennett took another gulp of his manly beer. 

 

“You got me a girly drink.”

 

“It’s  _ tasty.  _ Beer’s disgusting. If I hadn’t been drinking this swill since I was 12, I’d be drinking something pink.” 

 

Connor had a hard time believing anything that frothy could be disgusting. “That’s awfully young to be drinking.” 

 

“Like I said, I’m Catholic. Look.” Bennett reached across the table and took a visible and not inconsiderable sip of the appletini, relieving Connor’s fears of drugs, at least.

 

“What are these red things?”

 

“Maraschino cherries. Bev went a little bit overboard with them, but they’re good.” Bennett spooned one out and ate it. “You’ll enjoy it.” He slid the drink back to Connor. 

 

Connor’s first sip was hesitant for someone who just saw a demonstration that his drink wasn’t poisoned. It wasn’t his germophobia, which Uganda hadn’t completely eradicated. He remembered hearing somewhere that alcohol burned. He wasn’t sure where or when or from whom. It seemed like a sort of half-memory that could just as easily be a dream. Maybe it was  an urban legend meant to scare Mormon children away from drinking. It didn’t matter: the drink didn’t burn, it just tingled. He took a larger sip. “ _ Oooh _ , it’s good.” 

 

“Perfect beginner drink. Told you.”

 

The drink became more enjoyable with every sip. Weird how that happened. Usually Connor got bored with beverages, save for a time when he was eight years old and obsessed with apple juice. Obsessed. So obsessed that his parents didn’t allow him to drink anymore and when the ban was lifted he didn’t like it as much. 

 

“So you all know each other. Here.” Connor smiled at his drink. Speaking was easier.

 

“There’s a community, yeah. No agenda, though. We’re too disorganized.”

 

“I didn’t mean--I didn’t mean it was conspiratorial,” Connor said. He might have tripped on the word, but it was worth a shot.  Bennett was so smart and knew so many great words.  Connor also knew great words, he just didn’t have the opportunity to show it lately. “I just meant, the city’s so big, I didn’t know people knew each other here. Like you’re running into the Piggly Wiggly and your neighbor’s there.”

 

“We manage.” 

 

“Can I get another one of these?” Connor held his glass upside down and peered inside. Not a single drop remained. He felt like desert guy. That guy in the desert. From the Bible. Some Bible guy in the desert. “Oooh, and a side of those cherries!” 

 

“As much as I want to see what two-drink Connor becomes, it’s my ethical obligation to cut you off. Maybe next time.” 

 

“Next time? There’s going to be a next time?”

 

“Obviously. Let’s focus on this time, though.”

  
  



	14. The Princess of Queens

 

Arnold didn’t like the look of the neighborhood. It seemed more suburban than Manhattan, but somehow sketchier. The subway went above ground which, after numerous rides taken underground, seemed unusual.  Was it even a subway if it went aboveground, or did it just become a train?

 

The street layout was weird, too. The city part of New York City was a numbered grid system, which was perfect. Here, Seventh Avenue was next to Seventh Street which bisected Seventh Lane, which made no sense. Finally, Kevin found the address--a tiny little house sandwiched between littler houses and above a garage. He could hear talking inside, Avram’s gruff baritone over little children’s playful screaming.

 

“Abra!” 

 

“Arnold! Come in, come in!”

 

Avram dragged Arnold inside again. The house was unexpectedly cramped. He thought, with this neighborhood looking like an actual  _ neighborhood _ , there’d be a little more room indoors. The house seemed smaller than it was because the hall, already pretty narrow, was lined with overstuffed bookshelves.  Some books looked like they were written in Elvish. At least it seemed like a home, with jackets strewn on the bannister and toys on the floor.  There were no  _ homes  _ in the city.

 

“Meet my family! My sons, Tova and Eli, my wife, Shoshannah, and my daughter… late, of course. She’s going through her rebellious college phase with the eye-rolling and the--” Avram let out a noise of exasperated disgust, and then patted Arnold’s shoulder. “You’ll  _ love _ her. Ah! Here she is now! The princess of Queens!” 

 

Descending the staircase was a kind of schlubby woman with dark curly hair,  either freshly washed or freshly sprayed.

 

“Hey, Dad. Is this the nice Jewish boy you wanted me to meet?” As promised, she rolled her eyes.

 

“Oh, um, I’m not Jewish,” Arnold said.

 

“Hilarious! My name’s Chava.”

 

“Arnold.”

 

She scrunched her nose. “Arnold?”

 

“What’s in a name, right? Come, come! Sit!” Avram interjected, ushering them to the table.

 

“So, Arnold! Chava, why don’t you tell Arnold a little about yourself?”

 

Another eye-roll. If she did it this much, it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t so much an expression of sarcasm but a tic. 

 

“I’m 19, I go to Baruch and study actuarial science, I have a 3.8 GPA, I’m vice president of the Student Government, but I’m really just waiting for a nice Jewish boy to become a docile housewife and mother.”  She rolled her eyes again and, OK, that one had meaning. 

 

“Chava, stop. No one wants you to be docile. Heaven forbid,” Shoshannah said. “Arnold, have some challah.” 

 

Arnold took a chunk of weird, fluffy, yellow-ish bread.

 

“It’s good!” he said. “Kolla. I’m trying so much new food here.” 

 

“Nothing beats a good Jewish meal.”

 

Nice Jewish boy… good Jewish meal… something suddenly fell into place like an anvil.

 

“Wait, you’re Jewish?” It came out a little louder than he intended. Like he was appalled. But he wasn’t appalled! Just surprised. He tried to explain that to the family. It came out with a lot of stuttering and stammering and probably did the opposite to convince them. “It’s just, uh,  there aren’t many Jews in Utah . I know they exist, but they’re kind of, uh, mythical beings, like hobbits. Not that you’re hobbits!” 

 

The more he talked, the worse he made it.  So he kept going.

 

“You’re really a Mormon,” Avram said.

 

“I told you that like eighteen times! Why didn’t you ever tell me you were Jewish?”

 

Avram looked at Shoshannah, then back to Arnold.  “We’re not exactly subtle about it.”

 

Chava suddenly brightened. She leaned forward. “ So do you wear magic underpants?”

 

“Chava! How many times do I have to tell you not to ask guests about their underpants?”

 

“What? I never met a Mormon before! Oh my god, is it true that that Congressman guy is gay?”

 

Arnold looked hopelessly at Avram, who must have perpetuated the rumor, because he certainly never heard it from anyone else. Avram shrugged.

 

“Look, if Anderson Cooper says it, who am I to question? That man knows his gays.”

 

“ _ Implies _ it, honey. Anderson Cooper made a joke,” Shoshannah said.

 

“Joke!” Avram waved it away with his hand. “What’s a joke but the truth in disguise? Everyone knows he’s gay.”

 

Jews, homosexuals--Arnold didn’t have a problem with either but they were flying at him all at once and he needed to get away. 

 

“Excuse me. I just need to go outside for a moment.”

 

Arnold didn’t go far, just outside the door. He didn’t want to be rude. He didn’t want to seem like he was leaving because they were  _ Jews.  _ It didn’t change who they were. It just changed the very foundation of their relationship and colored all the previous interactions they had. 

 

The door opened behind him. He turned to see Chava clomping next to him in her boots. 

 

“Sorry about my parents,” she said. “They’re obsessed with setting me up with Jewish boys. Jewish, Jewish, Jewish. Ugh. But now that I know you’re not Jewish, I like you a lot more.”

 

Arnold looked puzzled. He couldn’t imagine saying that about a Mormon. 

 

“Also, for the record, I was totally against this. Dinner with the family as a first date? A blind date? Come on! Who does that.”? My parents, I guess, that’s who

 

“It’s fine, really. I just didn’t realize how much I didn’t know about, you know. The world.” 

 

Chava shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about the Midwest. It’s all the same to me. You could be from Utah, Idaho, Iowa, Indiana--I wouldn’t know the difference.”

 

“Goodness, neither would I.”

 

Chava laughed. “Let’s take a walk. I’ll show you around Queens.” 

 

“Your parents--”

 

“Give their blessing. My dad pounded his chest and screamed at the sky, my mother wept, but in the end they let me go for a walk with the goy. It was all very  _ Fiddler _ .” 

 

Arnold was confused, but he didn’t say anything. New Yorkers talked fast and at least thirty percent of what they said were references to things Arnold didn’t get. Oh, how the tables had turned on him, he who conceptualized the world through not just the Star Wars original trilogy but also the Expanded Universe, and who went through phases of peppering his sentences with Klingon and Elvish. Still did, if he wasn’t careful. 

 

After all, he’d done it in Uganda, where he thought it would be insurmountable but in the end turned out to be surprisingly easy. Like, super easy. He hadn’t expected everyone in Northern Uganda to speak English so well.

 

“So… what do you want to know?” Chava asked.

  
“About what?”

 

“About the  _ world _ ?”

 

“Well, what do you want to know about  _ Utah _ ?” 

 

Chava scrunched up her face. It was amazing how much more animated she was outside. Even in the dark, he could see how expressive her face was.  And she hadn’t rolled her eyes once.

 

“Is it all corn fields?”

 

“No. Of course not. There are cows, too.”

 

They talked more. Arnold didn’t keep track of where they were going. He trusted Chava to know the way around, not that he would have been able to find the way back even if he did pay attention. Should he be paying more attention? After all, he was the guy. The man. If they got mugged or attacked…

 

Oh, heck, he survived Uganda, and Chava could probably kick butt better than he could. 

 

“You can’t get drunk off of one appletini. It’s physiologically impossible. Six year old girls can’t get drunk off the amount of alcohol you consumed.” 

 

That voice was the one thing that drew his attention away from Chava. He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t familiar. It was a male voice, but it wasn’t threatening. It still made Arnold’s inside freeze.

 

“Maybe six year old  _ Catholic _ girls.”

 

_ That _ voice was familiar.

 

“Usually making fun of my early onset alcoholism is off-limits until the  _ third _ date.”

 

Rounding the corner, hanging heavily on a broad dark-haired man in a leather jacket, was his new-best-friend-former-Mission-president Connor McKinley.

 

“Ho-ly cow,” Arnold said. 

 

The dark-haired man saw Arnold frozen in place and stopped, too. Then Connor, foggy-eyed and beaming, looked up. 

 

“Arnold!” Connor said. “Bennett! This is my friend--sorry, best friend--and roommate Arnold. This is my new friend, Bennett.”

 

Bennett extended his hand. Arnold stared. Chava looked at each man with narrowed eyes. 

 

“This is awkward, right?” she asked.

 

Arnold finally realized he was supposed to shake Bennett’s hand. 

 

“You’re Bennett Campbell, right?” Chava said.

 

“Yep.”

 

“You know Lindsey and Gretchen?”

 

“I set them up.” 

 

“He’s cool,” Chava told Arnold with an air of confirmation. That’s why Chava thought he froze. Not because his friend  _ wasn’t supposed to be gay-- _ and maybe drunk--but because he was supposed to be concerned with his friend’s safety. 

 

“He’s the  _ coolest, _ ” Connor gushed. “Bennett knows everyone in the whole city.”

 

“Just the gays and the gay adjacents. Gayjacents. Oh, oh shit. I didn’t--um--”

 

“That’s me! That’s me! I’m gay!”

 

“I didn’t mean to out you,” Bennett finished lamely with a shrug. It was moot now.

 

“I always had the impression that Mormons were this weird homogenous cult of, like, Aryan farmboys. I never expected to meet a drunk gay red-headed Mormon and a Jewish one,” Chava said. 

 

They all laughed, even Connor.

 

“No, no, the Aryan farmboy is _ Kevin _ . Kevin’s the Aryan farmboy,” Connor corrected.

 

“How’d you two meet?” Arnold asked, words coming fluidly. He was eager to direct the conversation away from Kevin.

 

“Connor tried to convert me.”

 

“So you converted him instead,” Chava said.

 

“Oh, please. I’ve been a big flaming homo  _ forever.  _ The ‘turning it off’ stuff? It was never gonna work.” Connor’s hands were in full flight now, flopping drunkenly to emphasize his words. 

 

“I think I should get him home,” Arnold said. “It was nice meeting you, though.”

 

“Are you sure you can handle him? He has like four inches on you.” Bennett said.

 

“I have more than that!” 

 

Chava’s eyes slowly bulged to capacity, and then she burst out laughing.

 

“I’m  _ six inches _ taller than him,” Connor protested. “It’s not that funny. Look.”

  
He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t even do that straight anymore. He wound up falling onto Arnold instead. The six inches made a lot of difference. 

 

“We’ll be fine. Really,” Arnold said, although he regretted it as soon as the words came out.  Bennett was built like a fireman. He was built like a hobbit. 

 

“Alright. G’night,” Bennett waved, shoved his hands in his pocket, and left.  At least he was a man who took no for an answer.

 

“You need help, don’t you,” Chava said, once Bennett was out of sight.

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is FINISHED so I will be updating regularly. I didn't want to post again until I was done. Depending on how I decide to divide the chapters up, there will be 6-8 more parts
> 
> During the long posting hiatus, I learned two things: one, Mormons refer to going door to door to preach as "tracting," and they call people who are interested in the Church "Investigators." So I'll be using that language in future chapters.
> 
> Lastly, this is a minor, unimportant note, but the Elder Price is based on Nic Rouleau's, the Cunningham is Josh Gad's, and the McKinley is Rory O'Malley's.

Connor woke up to bleary memories of last night. A procession of happy, friendly gays and lesbians. A lot of them, in a parade of bright colors, trumpeting their proud sexuality against the dimly lit bar. Then he was stumbling down the street, clutching Bennett’s forearm, happy about something, laughing and then--

Arnold.

One of his best friends, catching him drunk and gay.

Connor tried to piece it together. He didn’t remember any fights. No screaming. No punches. What  _ did _ he remember? His grasp on Connor’s forearm, Connor’s scent of leather and woodchips. There might have been a woman with Arnold but haha since when did Connor notice women? Never. Never ever. Never ever ever. 

He moaned. He’d been in a drunk haze, but he remembered mellow words coming out of Bennett’s mouth and Arnold responding with equally chill words. Uncertain at first, and then rapport. And they might have laughed at something the woman said.  He couldn’t remember anything too terrible happening, but  _ he couldn’t remember. _

He squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to sit upright. 

“Hey, Connor. How are you feeling? I looked up hangovers and they said avoid loud noises. That’s why I’m talking like this,” Arnold stage-whispered, “and I got you a glass of water. They said to stay hydrated. Magic hangover cure!” 

Connor hummed an acknowledgement. Was this a hangover? God’s punishment for drinking. He deserved it.  

He sipped his water in silence and Arnold hung around, not watching him, but not  _ not  _ watching him either. Point was, there was no reason for Arnold to stay, and Connor hoped that if he continued sipping water quietly, Arnold would get the hint and leave.

“So last night… was that her?”

Oh, that’s why he stayed. Suddenly all the fog cleared away from Connor’s mind, waking him up like a hot cup of coffee in the morning, he’d imagine.  _ That  _ was the magic hangover cure: your best friend confronting you about your boyfriend.

“Him, yeah. I know it’s shocking--”

“Not really.”

“--but I need you to keep this a secret. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone!”

“You can’t tell  _ Kevin.” _

“You mean keep it a secret from my best friend?  _ Lie _ ?”

“You started a cult based on  _ Star Wars!”  _ Connor shrieked, which wasn’t fair to Arnold, he knew. Of the three Missionaries, there was no question that Arnold was the most unconditionally supportive, the least judgmental, and, in a way, the one who put up with the most. Although Arnold was messy and loud and had a tendency towards body odor, he was up against two Type-A overachievers. Connor tried to cut him slack whenever possible. He didn’t recognize the lying, shrieking monster he’d become. Maybe acting on gay impulses  _ was _ wrong if it turned him into this.

But Bennett wasn’t like this. Neither were Bennett’s friends, and they were all way gayer than he was.

“OK, OK, I won’t tell anyone! Not even Kevin.” 

“Thank you.”

Settled. Good. Connor trusted him.

* * *

Arnold was happy. His friends were happy. Sure, he didn’t know the finer details of what was going on with Kevin, and Connor was apparently in a gay relationship with a leather-jacket-wearing bad boy from a 1970s sitcom, but he didn’t care. As long as they were happy.

 

Sure, it was a little weird seeing Connor with a guy, but it was mostly weird how not weird it was. Like, Arnold didn’t think “Oh my goodness! This is sinful!” or “Wow! Connor’s girlfriend is a boyfriend? I’m shocked!”  He thought, “It’s about time.” 

 

And Kevin, jeez, his moods turned him into a coiled viper. You never knew when he’d lunge at you with his jaw wide open and teeth bared. So Arnold didn’t want to poke around and figure out what happened to tame Kevin. It’s not like Kevin’s feelings came from a fathomable source.

 

But they had a great few days. Connor and Kevin met Avram, although the food was too heavy for Connor  and Kevin had a problem with the texture and seasonings or  _ something.  _ Chava took Arnold to some museums, where he oohed and aahed appropriately. Connor went off with Bennett--always under the guise of  meeting an Investigator,  the lie twisting in Arnold’s gut each time he repeated it. It staved off the concerns that they should have been working harder. It gave Connor an excuse to run off alone to be gay with his handsome boyfriend. And it felt morally wronger to--what was the term Bennett used?--”out” Connor than to lie to Kevin. Maybe the Church would disagree. No, the Church would definitely disagree. But Arnold’s gut didn’t.

 

If Heavenly Father wanted them to act differently, he wasn’t sending them any signs.

* * *

Kevin’s shoes were on the wrong feet but that didn’t stop him from confidently jogging the three steps up to the stage. Tripping a bit, but the audience was too absorbed in chit-chat and drinks to notice Kevin’s stumble.  
  


Being on stage was thrilling. And so much more  efficient  than going door-to-door. Here, he could share the word of Christ to dozens of people at once. Sure, it was at the expense of one-on-one human connection that was so important than mission work, looking someone in the eye and forging a bond that transcended all earthly trappings. But the room seemed bigger from this vantage point.  _ He _ seemed bigger. Like a king against the backdrop of (admittedly, slightly tacky) exposed brick. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? 

Once he grabbed the mic, it was as if he’d pressed a button that silenced the audience and fixed all their unblinking eyes and solemn gazes on him. 

“Hi! What a lovely home you have! New York! Whoo!” he said, smiling to the back tables. “I’m Elder Kevin Price and I’m a Mormon missionary from--”

He’d forgotten where he was from. His eyes widened and dulled in momentary horror. But his smile didn’t falter, and that was the important thing: everyone was looking at his smile, no one could see his eyes, and the tell passed as quickly as it came.

“What’s the deal with Mormons, right? I bet you’re all wondering that. ‘Don’t they believe a bunch of stupid bull-poop like God lives on a planet? Isn’t that ridiculous? And wasn’t Joseph Smith a weirdo? And doesn’t the Church have a history of racism?’ Well, what Church doesn’t, am I right?”

The audience roared with laughter. Kevin didn’t realize racism could be so funny. 

It was  _ thrilling,  _ the way a mass of people responded to his words.  The rush of his most effective door-to-door missions, writ large.

“I bet none of you ever met a Mormon in your life, right? I bet you’re asking yourselves, is that guy up there--is he wearing that weird underwear right now? Has ever even had--” He stage whispered, “Ess-ee-ex?”  The crowd laughed and clapped. No stranger had ever  _ applauded _ him. 

“Yeah, yeah. We’re a weird folk, but we’re friendly. We’re just friendly, happy people, trying to spread the word of Christ. Clap if you love Jesus!” The audience clapped. “Now clap if you love me!” 

The audience thundered with applause and foot-stomping so loud that Kevin had to scream the next part: “I can guarantee one thing: if you listen to God, if you listen to me, if you do what’s right--You! Will! All! Be! Mormons!”

They sounded like a rally of hundreds instead of a couple of dozen people crammed into a tiny dark basement. But such was the power of the Lord.

“You will all be Mormons!” Kevin shouted, pointing to his finger across the faceless crowd which had, in fact, multiplied to hundreds.

“We will all be Mormons! We will all be Mormons!”

A laugh rose in Kevin’s throat, a laugh that sounded more like a cackle if he were evil, which he wasn’t. Honestly, he’d just saved a room full of people’s eternal souls. How could that be evil?

He heard one voice calling his name, distinct over the hundreds. A familiar, authoritative voice.

“Dad?” he gasped, looking out over the audience.  And then he saw his father, drowning in a wave  of busy New Yorkers, falling beneath hundreds of feet.

 

Kevin tried to run off the stage but the steps were gone, replaced by a sea of hellfire that emitted fumes pungent with sulfur. The stage was miles above  ground, littered with  stalagmites the size of skyscrapers extending to the blood-red sky . 

There was no escape. No help, either--the audience had vanished. Legally, there had to be an emergency exit somewhere--oh! There! He tugged the door open. It led to a dark alleyway. Connor was in the corner, getting spanked by a liberal media newscaster, but it didn’t seem to be a punishment. In fact, Connor seemed to be enjoying it. Kevin crept by him. 

The city streets were dark and deserted. He was completely, utterly alone except for a sense of foreboding and a feeling that he was going to die.

“Sir,” an old lady croaked. “Sir, please help me.”

She reached out to him with one withered, skeletal hand. 

“What can I do? Some food? Money?” Kevin asked, already patting his pockets for his wallet. “Here. Take my shirt.”

He was mid-way through unbuttoning when the old lady rasped again.

“No, I need…”

“Yeah?”

“I need…”

He leaned closer.

“I need to know about Jesus.”

“Oh.” Kevin frowned. “Well, I have a book here somewhere…” He patted his pockets again. Nothing. He finished unbuttoning his shirt, shaking it out for something to fall. Nothing did, so he did the same to his pants. Nothing.

“ _ Tell me _ .”

“OK.  Uh, long ago, when I was five , I--no, that’s not it.” Kevin rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “Jesus, Jesus… he’s… I can’t seem to remember right now.” 

His heart pounded louder and louder until it sounded like a military drum line. When he opened his eyes again, the old lady was gone.  To his left: unending greyness. To his right: unending greyness. He didn’t know where to go.

The sidewalk opened up beneath him. He woke up in a cold sweat. 

* * *

For the past couple of weeks, they’d been dressing down. Even when they wore their standard white shirts--why let them go to waste?--they weren’t their usual starched perfection. Laundry in New York City was a total pain.  Most of the time they didn’t even wear a tie.

So it was jarring to see Kevin at the breakfast table, in full regalia, like he’d been waiting for them since 6:30. Which he probably was. 

“Morning, Kevin,” Arnold said, cautiously. Would Bitter Kevin respond? Diligent Kevin? Angry Kevin?

“Good morning, Elder Cunningham, Elder McKinley,” Kevin responded. So far, not the worst Kevin, but definitely not the best. And was it just Arnold’s imagination, or were his ‘Elders’ pointed? “How’s your potential convert, Elder McKinley?” 

Connor put a napkin in his lap and poured himself some orange juice, measuring his movements as carefully as his tone and words. “Slow but steady.”

“It’s a little unusual, having so many sessions and no progress to speak of, isn’t it?”

Arnold looked at Connor, wide-eyed and alarmed, and OK, maybe he should try measuring his emotions, too.

“I wouldn’t say there’s been no progress. It’s been very progressive. One of the most progressive experiences of my life,” Connor said.

“I’m just saying, if you need someone to swoop in and close the deal…  ABC, always be converting . And we should always work in pairs. Just a little disturbing how we’ve been eschewing the rules lately. Like we were sent to this depraved city as a test, and we let ourselves be led astray. We let ourselves fail.”

“Kevin.” Connor sighed. “Did you have the Hell Dream again?”

“That’s--I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Kevin did have a point: Hell Dream or not, none of them were doing their mission. Come to think of it, Arnold was surprised that Kevin didn’t burst into his room at precisely 6:30 clanging pots and pans, eager to return to normalcy. 

“The point is,” Kevin continued, “starting today, starting right now, we need to get back on track.”

Arnold looked at Connor. They outnumbered Kevin, but Kevin would overpower them both, not physically but with stubbornness and self-righteousness  and technical correctness. They  _ were _ in New York to tract and spread the Holy Word. It was hard to argue that point.

  
Also, if it came down to it, he probably _could_ overpower them physically.

If he couldn’t get Kevin to back down completely, Arnold could at least step up as Connor’s wingman.  “I think we should let Connor continue working with his potential convert, but that doesn’t mean we can’t partner up together! You and me, buddy, remember?” 

Kevin breathed out through his nose. “We have to make up for every single day we slacked off.”

Arnold paled.  He’d hoped, naively, that Kevin would let that slide, maybe realizing that he didn’t want to work that hard, either. But of course not. Once Kevin resolved to do something, he resolved to do it 100%, especially hard work. And if he was back in full Mormon mode, then he’d eat, sleep, and breathe hard work, which Arnold wasn’t  built for. He prefered to eat food, sleep on beds, and breathe air.  As Avram would say , oy gevalt.

But Connor and Bennett were so cute together!  No sense dragging Connor with them. He, at least, should be happy.

Plus, Arnold didn’t want to put up with two of his friends if they were both going to be frayed wires. As incredible as it sounded, dealing with Kevin alone would be ever so slightly, marginally easier than dealing with both. 

“Absolutely,” Arnold agreed.

“Good. Then it’s decided,” Kevin said, but it wasn’t quite decided because he turned to Connor and switched his tone from Firm and Authoritative to Gentle and Authoritative, which was scarier. “Elder, I know we want to save everyone, but sometimes you have to realize a lost cause.”

Connor face strained with a smile. “I don’t think it’s lost yet.”

  
  
  
  



	16. Breaking Down

Kevin wanted to scream, not that he would. How could strangers ignoring him seem so hostile? Many shoved him, not necessarily going out of their way to (benefit of the doubt), but certainly not trying to avoid it. It never bothered him before; rudeness was the known price of tracting, even in Utah. But for some reason it was nearly impossible for Kevin to grin and bear it.

  
And Arnold was so slow, always at least three people behind and two heads below with his flat shoes and short stature. It would be easier to leave him behind. No, the rules were clear: Missionaries needed to work in pairs no matter what. If he wanted to return to the narrow path to righteousness, he couldn’t stray.

  
Kevin stepped to the side and took three calming breaths. It was wrong to get frustrated with Arnold. He was trying.

  
And if he wasn’t, Kevin wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

  
Panting, Arnold caught up and stood next to Kevin.

  
“No wonder Mormonism--isn’t popular--here. No one--stops to--talk.”

  
“We’ll make them talk,” Kevin said, his voice steely with determination. “You there!” He pointed to a man in a business suit. The man quickened his pace, just slightly, just enough demonstrate minor irritation but not fear. No group needed Jesus more than men in business suits, but sadly no group was better at ignoring Him. “You! Miss!” The woman ignored him, too.

  
Just a test. A test of faith. A test of… determination. Kevin fixed his tie. This whole experience was a test and he’d failed the first time so he had to study harder. Should be grateful he got a second chance. As for Arnold, patience was a virtue, and Arnold was his loyal, trying friend, so Kevin exhaled his frustrations out of his body.

  
“I don’t think this is working. Maybe we should take a moment to think of a plan, talk about how we’re feeling, where our headspace is now...”

  
“NO! We had weeks to ‘regroup’ and ‘breathe’ and ‘feel spiritually content without the crushing weight of unachievable expectations’ and look where it got us! As far away from Jesus as--as--Starbucks regulars! Now let’s go!”

  
He pulled Arnold around the corner, where they almost bumped into a prophet.

  
A prophet with a grim, impassive face and hair that looked like it never saw a shower or razor. Filthy Biblical robes. A giant sign advertising the end-times, filled with uneven, hand-written scrawls about Jesus and Bible verses he’d never heard of, letters starting out big and then shrinking as they approached the edge of the paper.

  
Kevin stared, stared, stared, gaze trained on the man like a dog eyeing a squirrel. Was he in another Hell Dream? Maybe the first one never ended. He kept staring, waiting for a sign that it was either real or fake.

  
Nothing happened. The man continued to gaze blankly, holding the sign. The blue-marker scrawl was too tacky to be part of a Hell Dream. Hell Dreams were lush, high-budget productions in bright technicolor.

  
“Arnold, is that what I look like?” Kevin whispered. He couldn’t tell if the man was looking at them or not.

  
“That guy? No! He’s swarthy.”

  
Kevin could have, maybe should have, clarified. No, that’s not what I meant. Do I seem crazy like that? Do I have that wild look in my eyes? If I take a few more wrong turns, will I wind up like that, on a street corner with a cheap sign? He tore his gaze away.

  
“Awesome. Great. Let’s go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
“Meeting with an Investigator” meant going to Bennett’s apartment which he allegedly shared with eight other people, though Connor never saw them. All for the best, since they could cuddle in the eight-by-eight living room on a beaten-up Craigslist couch, watching “required secular viewing” on Bennett’s laptop. Connor usually didn’t love what Bennett considered “art,” but he did like resting his head in Bennett’s lap and letting Bennett pet his hair. It was the best place to avoid the feelings of guilt that chased him. Whenever they crept up, they’d be immediately squashed by the contentment and warmth that came from having his head between Bennett’s legs.

  
Except when that wasn’t enough.

  
“You seem distracted,” Bennett said, pausing whatever movie he said they should watch.

  
Connor could say he didn’t really like the movie--that was true, but indirectly dishonest, since that wasn’t why he was distracted. Or he could give a directly honest response about an important obstacle in their relationship, and bring up the movie thing later. It seemed like the right thing to do. The mature, adult thing.

  
“My friends have different ideas about the S-word.”

  
“Sex?”

  
Connor winced. “S-uality. Even on Rumspringa,” he quickly added, “which I am on, they are not comfortable with homo… ness, so I haven’t exactly told them.”

  
“The Jewish guy’s not OK with it?”

  
“No, no, he’s fine with it. There’s another guy.” Connor hesitated before saying Kevin’s name, as if the two syllables would tell the ever-observant Bennett the history of his yearning.

  
“The Aryan farmboy.”

  
Bennett was such a good listener. Connor couldn’t remember talking about Kevin. Oh. Right. He’d been drunk. Still. Bennett listened to him even when he was drunk. Connor preened in spite of himself.

  
“Yeah. He’s very rigid. About doctrine.”

  
“Hmm,” Bennett said. “So he doesn’t know about us.”

  
“No.”

  
“Are you more concerned that he’ll react badly, or that he’ll convince you he’s right?

  
Connor hadn’t explored the motivations behind Kevin must not find out. It seemed self-evident: Kevin must not find out! He didn’t see why the distinction mattered, although it must if Bennett brought it up. He tried to think of a satisfying answer but it just gave him a headache, like those extra-credit riddles his third-grade teacher gave that he never figured out.

  
“I dunno,” he whined, “just turn back the Rubix thing.”

  
“Kubrick.”

  
“Right.”

  
“And it’s Hitchcock. But I get the feeling you’re not into it either way.”

  
“I’m sorry.”

  
“No worries. It’s not for everyone. Lots of people pretend to be into it or force themselves to like it. Like they’ll be exiled if they admit they don’t ‘get’ Vertigo. You liked West Side Story, right?”

  
Connor loved West Side Story, but he got the impression Bennett viewed it as an obligation: recently out gay Mormons needed to see West Side Story to catch up on the life they missed out on.

  
“You’re a musical gay, not a Hitchcock gay. No shame. We’ll watch Into the Woods.”

  
Bennett was so patient. So understanding. He seemed like the type of guy who wanted--needed--s-stuff, but they hadn’t even kissed yet, and Bennett never even brought it up. Connor spent the first couple of weeks trying to pick up on any hint of pressure. Anything that would give him an excuse to leave. Reassurance that the secular world was dangerous, especially this choice of lifestyle.

  
He couldn’t find any. All he saw was a sweet and handsome man who took care of Connor without infantilizing him or making him feel childish, who tacitly understood what Connor was struggling with even if he was far beyond those concerns.

  
“You’re going to love Bernadette. I can tell already. I almost don’t want to be responsible for your inevitable Bernadette Peters obsession.”

  
“I think you like musicals a lot more than you let on,” Connor said, tilting his head up and narrowing his eyes at Bennett.

  
“Guilty. Don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

  
Secret. It was a common word, it was an innocent context, but even so, it seemed like a taunt from Heavenly Father Himself. Connor’s stomach flipped. He shifted in Bennett’s lap, trying to remind himself that he was there.

  
“I wish! More than anything!”

  
He was there because he lied to Bennett. And Kevin. And Arnold, who only knew the truth by accident.

  
He grabbed Bennett’s hand. Easier not to get lost in his thoughts when he had something solid to clutch. He could focus on the musical.

  
“I’ve been good and I’ve been kind, mother, doing only what I learned from you.”

  
And he’d gotten drunk.

  
Ugh! He shifted again. Why couldn’t he just pay attention to the darn musical? He liked it--the parts he noticed, at least, before his thoughts consumed him, as they inevitably did.

  
There was nothing worse than watching something you know you’d love if the sin crabs weren’t snapping at your feet, reminding you that you betrayed your Lord and Savior and should probably feel worse about it.

  
He reminded himself of Bennett’s body heat, and that brought him back to the screen.

  
“Are we to dispel this curse through deceit?”

  
Poor Bennett probably thought Connor was some pure, innocent lamb incapable of lying at all, let alone to his best friend. Let alone to his boyfriend. Or whatever Bennett was.

  
Let alone God! How could he forget Heavenly Father? That was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d forsaken his Lord.

  
“Do you want, like, a pillow?” Bennett asked. “‘Cuz I can roll up a shirt.”

  
“Bennett, I don’t think this is going to work.”


	17. Latter-Day Taints

Arnold’s friends weren’t happy. In fact, they’d both suddenly  dropped into the lowest mood canyon Arnold had ever seen them in. Arnold suspected a break-up for Connor, but he still had no idea what Kevin was going through, just that he was running them ragged every day from 6:30 in the morning until the sky was so dark that packs of college students roamed the streets.  Around 10:00, some nights--that late. Kevin treated the mission with a drill sergeant’s sense of duty, and Connor bore it like he was a convict righteously atoning for some crime. Which, jeez, was probably a more accurate description of his mindset than Arnold cared to think.

 

But that didn’t mean Arnold shouldn’t have time to see Chava! He couldn’t bring it up, not with Connor suffering a break-up. And he couldn’t leave his friends alone. So in the end, it meant that Arnold  _ didn’t  _ have time for Chava, even though he  _ should have.  _ He texted her, sure, they kept each other in the loop for Rogue One spoilers, but they never hung out. If Arnold wasn’t careful, he’d bristle with resentment towards his friends.

 

He did have time for Chava’s father, which was weird, although it would have been weirder if Chava hadn’t been so understanding. When they were downtown they stopped by to grab sandwiches for lunch--thankfully Kevin allowed them to eat--and pretend to be as normal as possible.

 

Glimpsing the headlines of the newspapers on the deli counter was Arnold’s only reprieve from Scripture study and tracting. He couldn’t read the whole paper--he could only gaze longingly at them on the way to their table-- so he found himself making up stories based on the front page as Kevin rambled on and on about strategy. Sometimes Avram rambled about current events but he was prone to colorful exaggeration and it was hard to tell how much of his retelling was accurate. Usually he and Kevin spoke at the same time, oblivious to one another, two monologues going on at once: one spiritual, one secular. Arnold had to tune them both out or else he’d get a migraine.

 

It was a particularly grueling day--all days were particularly grueling--and Arnold wanted to walk straight to the table and sit down as soon as possible. He barely cared about what the news was, but his eyes were habitually drawn to the counter. The headlines struck him. Shocked him. Shook him. Like electrocution, an earthquake, and a meteor hitting all at once.

 

MISSIONARY POSITION

 

MORE-MEN LEADER

 

LATTER DAY TAINTS 

 

BRING ‘EM HUNG

 

The worlds collided with earth-shattering violence.

 

“See? Gay! I told you!” 

 

Avram seemed a little too triumphant that every single major newspaper boasted the same story: the highest-profile Mormon politician was caught in extramarital homosexual affairs. In airport bathrooms. Sleazy motels. Drag clubs.  Twitter. 

 

“No,” Kevin said, grabbing the newspaper from Avram’s hand. “No, no, no.”

 

“Are you really surprised? The rooster that crows the loudest is the one with something to hide.”

 

“He’s been gay all this time?” Connor choked. “ _ Him _ ?” 

 

“Awful when they turn out to be one of your own, right? Oy. Don’t worry. Everyone will still love the gays.” 

 

“We’re  _ Mormon _ .” Kevin came dangerously close to growling. 

 

“Oh, right! I forgot. Well,” Avram shrugged, “we survived Madoff. You’ll survive this schmuck.”

 

“This is  _ fake.  _ This is a take-down piece by the  gay Jewish feminist propagandist media \--” Connor gasped and clasped his hands over his mouth, letting the paper fall on the ground. “Oh no. I’ve become my father.”

 

“Connor has a point. Anyone can make a photo look like something else,” Arnold said.

 

Avram dutifully held up his phone. “There are videos.”

 

“We don’t need to see that, Armageddon!” Arnold blocked the screen with his hand to protect his friends. He imagined stepping on the fragile ice pond of their emotions, the cracks slowly spreading beneath them across the entire expanse of frozen water. “Not--not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

 

“Nothing wrong with it? He’s a hypocrite!” Kevin shouted, his accusatory finger trembling. “He preaches that we should all be holy, never sin, never do--do-- _ that _ \--with another man and here he is, doing it! Violating the word of God! Holding everyone else to absurd standards while he does anything he wants! He’s a hypocrite! We slept in his children’s beds! His children! We ate his food! He welcomed us into his home! We respected him! Our whole community--and all this time he was--he was a sick, perverted  _ liar!” _

 

The sheet of ice gave way beneath their feet. They would go under, submerged beneath the water until they froze. Kevin shook with rage, Connor trembled in fear, Arnold stood still hoping everything would pass if he just ignored it.

 

“I have to go,” Connor whispered. Arnold wouldn’t have known what he said if he didn’t scurry away immediately after. He would have chased after Connor once he realized what was happening, but then Kevin muttered something and ran away in the opposite direction.  Who needed his help more? How could he even help? And which one could he catch up to? 

 

“That’s why I don’t trust AirBnB,” Avram said.


	18. The Fall

Kevin wanted to feel angrier. Once his outburst passed, so did all his other emotions except tiredness, so he slumped on a park bench with a blank mind. He felt like a petulant child after a tantrum. He was sick of his ups and downs. His friends would probably get sick of them soon, too, although up until now he did a good job hiding them.

 

“You’re Arnold’s friend, aren’t you?” 

 

He didn’t bother looking up. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

 

“Oh, yeah. You’re Kevin.”

 

He turned his head to look at her out of obligation. It was the girl Arnold sometimes hung out with. Then he let his head fall back towards the ground.

 

“Mind if I sit?”

 

“Whatever,” Kevin said. “I don’t mind anything anymore.”

 

“Oooh, are you bummed about the Congressman?” 

 

Kevin wanted to glare at her but couldn’t find the energy to turn his head and move his eyes so he just continued staring at the ground. 

 

“You shouldn’t, like, define yourself by your religion and all its followers, you know? That’s as bad as someone assuming all white Christian males are terrorists just because one shot up a hospital last week.” 

 

“That’s terrible!” It jolted him enough to snap his head toward her.

 

“Right? Stereotypes are so damaging. Look, I don’t know if Mormons believe in therapy but it’s obvious you need it. Why don’t you do some stand-up? It’s pretty much the same thing except it’s free.”

 

“I never did it before. I don’t think I’d be very good.”

 

“Who cares? You’re a tall, conventionally attractive man with perfect teeth. The audience would let you take a dump on their chests even if they weren’t into that sort of thing. Come on. What’s the worst that can happen?”

 

Stalagmites and hellfire. 

 

“I run an open mic,” she continued, “and the audience is fangless and forgiving. I’ve seen people go up there and rant about their exes for a full ten minutes without a single moment of humor. If you’re worried about not having good material, it’s not an issue. They would eat Mormon stuff up, especially with what happened recently.”

 

Kevin bounced his leg. He hadn’t been concerned about good material and hostile audiences and how they’d view Mormons in light of the Congressman’s scandal, but it was nice of her to bring it up.

 

“Well, I’ll add those things to a list of things to worry about, but my actual problem was...” He trailed off. He never told anyone about his Hell Dreams, the smell and the vultures and the dying old lady, his mental state, the maple glaze donut, his doubts, his anger. But he sighed and told her, sprawling out in directions he never imagined taking: his fears about cults, his experience at Scientology, the mangy prophet, his epiphany in Uganda and how it vanished with one Google search.

 

When he was done, she burst out laughing.

 

“That’s hilarious. That’s your set. Come on. You’ll kill ‘em.”

 

*************

 

Maybe he wasn’t meant to be gay.

 

The thought chilled his heart. For as long as he could remember, his natural inclination was towards gayness, and it was up to him to fight against it. All the time, a voice inside his head went  _ you are gay, you are gay, you are gay,  _ and he knew he’d be happier--albeit unholy--if he’d just let himself be gay. And he was right. He couldn’t remember being happier than when he’d stopped fighting it and allowed himself to be with Bennett.

 

But maybe he wasn’t meant to be happy, because he also never felt  _ guiltier _ , and all it took was one second, one lull in the day, one special gust of wind for his guilt to light up like all the billboards in Times Square where, by the way, Bennett  _ refused _ to go. 

 

Did the Congressman feel guilt when he did whatever it was he did in the airport bathrooms? (What, exactly, did he do in airport bathrooms?  Why airport bathrooms? ) He and Bennett never even did anything. In retrospect, they had just been intimate friends, like Arnold and Kevin. 

 

Or maybe not, because goodness, he wanted to do things with Bennett that he was (mostly) sure Arnold never wanted to do to Kevin.  Why shouldn’t he go ahead and do sex, then?   He already lied and drank and shirked his responsibilities, just like the Congressman. Kevin’s words echoed in his ears. That hypocrite.  Probably just wanted to keep all the gay men to himself.

 

Connor huffed.  _ Being gay is bad, but lying is worse, _ and he’d done both. And more.

 

He found himself on the subway heading towards Queens. Under any other circumstances, he’d be alarmed that he subconsciously wound up on the train without remembering the steps he took to get there, but all sorts of weird things were happening inside his brain and outside. Of course he’d lose his bearings; he lost everything else.

 

He marched into the first bar he saw, which was right outside the subway stop. In fact, every building in the neighborhood was a cramped, dimly lit hipster bar, but he didn’t know that, just marched into the first one and took a seat.

 

“Appletini, extra alcohol, please.” 

  
  


*****************

  
  
  
  


The break-up stung. Bennett wasn’t the type to lie about things like that. It hurt, beyond the regular hurt of being dumped, beyond being blind-sided.  He liked Connor. A lot. He’d been in it for the long-haul, thought Connor finally realized that, assumed Connor felt the same. And if Connor was one of those infamous polygamous Mormons, well, Bennett could work with that, too. He was, after all, a worldly modern New Yorker.

 

And he tried to do the right thing, give Connor an appropriate amount of space, used all of his life experience and undergrad psych classes to be the right amount of you’re-welcome-to-talk-about-it but never to push.

 

He’d been authentic. OK, maybe he shouldn’t have pretended to be interested in Mormonism in the first place. That had been deceitful, but he cut it as soon as he realized. He knew how he’d appear to a Midwestern Mormon--bad boy, maybe a player--but if that was the assumption they’d make, he wasn’t going to change himself to make himself seem more appealing. He wanted Connor to like  _ him _ , no pretenses.

And he’d been  _ dumped,  _ so he found himself in his apartment on a Saturday night, getting over a break-up, watching  _ Les  _ fucking _ Mis  _ the 25th Anniversary Concert with Nick fucking Jonas, thinking that Connor would love this terrible musical and the even worse movie. Connor was totally an Anne Hathaway homosexual. He just didn’t know it yet. 

 

And now he never would.

 

And then there was a knock on his door and when he opened it, Connor McKinley was hanging on the frame, breath smelling strongly of apples and faintly of vodka, eyes glazed, smile wide and sloppy.

 

“Connor? What are you doing?” There was something unbearably adorable about Connor McKinley and also something unbearably wrong.

 

“I regret breaking up with you.” It came out as  _ Ahrugretbraykinupwissyu. _

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Bennett moaned, pulling Connor into the apartment, then into his bedroom. All told, it was about four steps; the apartment wasn’t very big. He set Connor down on his bed.

 

“I dreamed of this moment for a long time. You, specifically, for a shorter time, other men in general for a looooooooong time.” Bennett assumed “this” meant sex, or whatever Connor’s idea of sex was, even though Connor looked more ready for sleep than for coitus. 

 

“Alright, drunky. Where do you live?”

 

“The Fanning.”

 

“The Fan--the Dakota? Jesus. Sorry. I’m not schlepping you all the way there.”

 

“Slep. Arnold uses that word now. S’it mean?”

 

“It means carry your drunk ass from the L to the A to the goddamn Dakota. If you stay here tonight, your roommates aren’t gonna put out an all-points bulletin, are they?”

 

“If I stay tonight, we’re gonna do it. We’re gonna do sex.”

 

“No, we’re not, one, because you’re drunk and you can’t meaningfully consent, two, because  you’re so drunk you would pass out during , which is a whole other level of consensual wrongness. I don’t need a third reason but I feel like I should have one for balance--”

 

“But if I’m sober, I might not want to.”

 

“And that’s an issue, buddy.” 

 

Connor moaned and beat his fists against the mattress. “The other gay Mormon is allowed to.”

 

“The Congressman?”

 

“You’re always so worldly and stuff. Did you know he was gay? You know everything.”

 

“Him? Why would I--I mean, I heard rumors, but I never slept with him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“What’s a ‘glory hole?’”

 

“Oh, Connor. Jesus. Sleep it off and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

 

“I’m sorry I broke up with you.”

  
Bennett ruffled his hair. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”


	19. No Note, Car Gone

The stand-up was a rousing success that didn’t descend into a hellish nightmare vision at all. Four people had gone before Kevin, four awkward, uncharismatic mumblers who managed, at best, two pity laughs between them. _ I can do better than that, _ Kevin thought. And he did. 

 

Once the waves of laughter stopped sending him flashbacks of his awful hell dream.

 

“Kevin Price, opening the show,” Chava announced, winking at him before she called the next performer to the stage. It was a little mean to put down the previous four performers that way, but heck, Kevin thought, he deserved it. The others had been awful and he’d been great.

 

Afterwards, everyone had questions for him, encircling him to pull more stories, more facts about Mormonism that Kevin shared without any intention of luring them into his religion. He could share his faith--if it was still his faith, he wasn’t sure--without forcing it on anyone else.

 

There was a hang out afterwards that Chava obviously attended most, if not all, of the time, and the regulars asked her if Kevin would join them, but Chava declined for both of them.

 

“Gotta get him back to his farm,” she said.

 

“Maybe next time?” Kevin said hopefully, and Chava wrapped her arm around his shoulders and lead him out of the club.

 

“Next time, definitely, but I just got a text from my father that says Arnold’s having a conniption and he needs reinforcements.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “Do you know anything about that?” 

 

“Er…” 

  
  


The deli closed hours ago so Kevin wound up sitting on the subway with a polite, strained smile on his face, his stomach dropping to his feet when he checked his phone and saw 136 missed calls and texts. Chava offered to accompany him but he had the feeling Arnold would be in a mood that he wouldn’t want Chava to see.

 

He was right.

 

“What were you DOING? What were you THINKING?” Arnold screamed as soon as Kevin walked in. “I’ve been calling and texting all day! Worrying sick! Do you know what I put up with? One morning you wake up and oh! You’re fine! Normal, even! And then in the afternoon you’re like--I don’t know--some zealot again! And on and off and on and off for weeks! But can we EVER talk about Kevin’s crazy carnival ride of emotions? NO! And then you run off and I think this is it! Kevin’s lost it big time! Oh no he might actually be dead!  But you can’t report a person missing until they’ve been gone for 48 hours! 48 hours! That’s long enough for you to die six times!”

 

Arnold was red and breathless when he finished. Kevin never felt more ashamed in his life, not when he blamed his brother for eating the donut, not when he accidentally looked at his seventh grade teacher’s bosom, not even in his wildest hell dreams.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Connor’s gone too! I don’t know where he is but he’s not picking up his phone either! Why doesn’t anyone pick up their phone?  _ What’s the point of phones if no one answers them? _ ”

 

“Connor’s gone?” Kevin felt sick. Connor had thrown himself into religion, and unlike Kevin, was consistent: he’d been working with that Investigator for weeks, focusing all his time and energy on that, no dalliances into secularity like Kevin had, and what did that leave him with? What did it all mean when their religion was a farce? 

 

He hoped Connor didn’t do anything drastic. 

 

“I’m too worried about Connor to even be angry with you,” Arnold said, which didn’t sound right; he seemed plenty angry.  “I’m going to try to get some sleep and hopefully Connor will be here in the morning so I can yell at both of you.” 

 

*************

  
  


Connor woke up to the smell of grease and eggs and Bennett’s woodchip scent and the throb of a headache. The pillows were coarser than he was used to. Weird blue-grey plaid. 

 

He turned his head to the side and was assaulted by a plate of steaming bacon and eggs.

 

“Hangover food,” Bennett stated. 

 

Somehow the previous night flooded back. Well, most of it. The significant parts, anyway. The hair ruffling, and the fact that he owed Bennett an explanation, which he started in on right away, right after he attacked his breakfast with all the shame of a lion devouring a zebra carcass.

 

“So,” Bennett said.

 

“I’m sorry I broke up with you. I wasn’t supposed to be gay. I was supposed to keep it down, turn it off, and for years it worked. I was super straight for my whole life. No one ever suspected I had gay thoughts unless I told them.”

 

“Well, that’s because you were in Utah, but go on.”

 

“Then you came along and the city made me gay--something in the air, I think--”

 

“The water, actually.” 

 

“--and I couldn’t control it anymore. I wanted you so bad. I still do. The first time I met you I wanted to save your eternal soul. I had good intentions, I promise! But you were just so hot. I wanted you more than I wanted Jesus.”

 

“That’s flattering. Jesus is ripped. Go on.”

 

“I had crushes on men before--I won’t--they’re not--well, anyway. Crushes but I never acted on them, never even felt compelled to until I saw you. And at first, like I said, I was just like! Wow! Wouldn’t he be a catch for the Latter Day Saints! He’d make a great first baptism! But you made me realize that wasn’t what I wanted and you brought up the whole rumspringa thing and then I just started lying and it came so naturally and I was so good at it--”

 

“Actually, you weren’t--”

 

“--and then I started drinking and meeting other gays and I just gave myself this whole double life where you were an Investigator even though you dismissed Mormonism outright and are an amoral atheist Catholic deviant--”

 

Bennett shrugged. “True.”

 

“--you were a good person, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. It didn’t add up, all of it, and you liking me, but it did--and I was so happy,”  Connor’s voice broke like glass struck by a bowling ball and he doubled over. “I was so happy and so  _ guilty _ .”

 

Bennett held Connor until his sobbing emotional storm passed. Well, not passed, but subsided enough that Bennett could talk over the sniffles and occasional gasps.

 

“Let’s take this one point at a time. First of all, you were an awful liar.”

 

“I was?” Connor sniffed.

 

“Please. You have the most obvious tells. Your face turns an actual color when you lie, for one.” 

 

“It does?” 

 

“Yeah. Plus, on the off chance that you were telling the truth,  I Googled ‘Mormon rumspringa’ on my phone when you were in the bathroom at Starbucks.”

 

“And you didn’t call me out on it?”

 

“What was I going to do, embarrass you? Make you feel guilty? I figured if a nice Mormon boy like you was lying, you had good reason. I’ve been there before. It’s hard.” 

 

Connor stared at the bedsheet, not daring to look at Bennett until Bennett placed his hands on the side of his face and gently guided him up.

 

“Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do but I thought it was at the time. I let you lie to me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because sometimes circumstances put good people in positions where they make ethically questionable choices. And because you’re cute and I let cute gingers get away with everything.”

 

“I lied to my friends, too.”

 

“You’ll work it out between them. The Jewish guy seems pretty understanding.”

 

Connor laughed. “He is. You’d like him.” Planet Connor’s-Friends-and-Boyfriend-Getting-Along. Ideal world.  He had to focus on reality. “What do we do now?”

 

“We’ll dry your eyes, get your face back to the color of a hospital room, and return you back home.” 

 

“My friends might be there.”

 

“So? I’ll meet them. Formally and soberly. Unless you don’t want me to.”

 

“I want you to,” Connor said. He couldn’t keep a secret forever. Turns out, he couldn’t even keep it for a couple of weeks. If Kevin didn’t like it, then that was something Kevin needed to work on. Or not. It wasn’t Connor’s problem. “You’re going to meet my friends.”

 

“Yes. I even have a tie.”

 

“You do not.”

 

“Do too.” Bennett tugged open a drawer and wound a black tie around his neck, which blended with his black t-shirt and black jacket. “Ta-da.”

 

Connor burst out laughing, and some secular rom-com spirit compelled him to march forward, grab Bennett by the tie, pull him close and kiss him in a way he must have absorbed from the secular New York air. Or maybe he accidentally saw it on TV when he was younger and held it in his subconscious for this moment. Or maybe he knew it on instinct, but he certainly never had formal training. He hoped he was doing it right.

  
  



	20. Homecoming + Outcoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! Last chapter will be the resolution.

 

Connor wasn’t nervous on the subway at all. Or guilty. He’d cleared half his conscious, and now he was ready to clear the other half. With Bennett’s support. They were the obligatory insufferably cute gay couple on the A train, too handsome to resent. Connor wasn’t confident enough for PDA--public or private displays--and he didn’t think he ever would be, but they were obvious enough as a couple that a lot of people told them they were a cute couple. Connor didn’t know how to feel about it.  Or how to respond.  He let Bennett smile and thank them as he tried to control his heart rate and think about what to tell Kevin.  _ Guess what, Kevin! I’m one half of a cute gay couple! _

 

He had a plan: as soon as he saw Kevin, he’d tell him. Short and simple and to the point. No time to hesitate. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by saying hello. Couldn’t let himself get caught up in a long speech. 

 

“Kevin, I’m gay. Kevin, I’m gay,” he recited under his breath.

  
  


It seemed like ages since Connor saw Kevin and Arnold, even though it was less than a day.  It was his first time back at the apartment since he found out about the Congressman’s secret life.  He stood in front of the door, bracing himself. 

“You OK?” Bennett asked. 

 

Connor didn’t want to lie anymore, so he didn’t answer. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 

 

He’d barely crossed the threshold when Kevin flung himself at him, wrapping him in a suffocating embrace.

 

“CONNOR!”

 

“Kevin, I’m gay.”

 

“Who cares what you are? You’re alive!” He put his hands on Connor’s face. Connor leaned in, instinctively, and then straightened up before the observant Bennett could notice. 

  
“You don’t care that I’m gay?”

 

“No! We thought you were dead! Who is this?” Kevin asked, finally noticing Bennett.

 

“That’s my, uh, boyfriend.”

 

Kevin blinked. “Boyfriend?”

 

“Yeah. I told you. I’m gay.”

 

“Oh. Huh,” Kevin said. “You found a boyfriend really quickly.”

 

Bennett and Connor looked at each other. Connor had to tell him the whole truth from the beginning, no matter how hard it was.

 

“I’ve been seeing him for a while,” he began. “We met in Central Park when we got--”

 

Kevin threw his arms around Connor again and lifted him off the ground. “YOU’RE NOT DEAD!”

 

Arnold was in the middle of a tirade before he even left his room. “.... it hasn’t even been a day and you’re already scre--CONNOR’S ALIVE!” Arnold tackled him, then almost ground his bones to dust with a bear hug.  “I thought you were dead!  _ How could you do that to me?  _ Where were you? You scared the snot out of me! Both of you!” He pushed Connor away. “You need to sort your stuff out. Do you know how hard it is to put up with you two?”

 

Arnold’s rant went on for some time, cycling through relief and anger until he ended it abruptly with “Hey, Bennett! How have you been!”

 

“I’m good, Arnold. Nice to see you ag--”

 

Bennett trailed off and looked at Kevin. Kevin remained smiling, mellow and oblivious, until the others turned away in relief.

 

“How about some acai juice?”

 

****

 

As soon as they sat at the kitchen table, Connor filled in the blanks, eager to unload his conscience. 

 

“...and so I told him I was on Mormon rumspringa--”

 

“What’s rumspringa?” Kevin asked.

 

“ It’s when Amish kids watch TV , I don’t know, they do whatever they want to find out if Amishism is right for them--”

 

“My parents never told me I could do that!”

 

“It wasn’t true,” Connor explained.

 

“Wow. You lied almost as much as I did. You were really good at it,” Arnold said, awe-struck.

 

Somehow, that struck Bennett as the weirdest part of the conversation. His eyes widened. “Are you kidding?”

 

After Connor finished, Kevin decided to clarify his mood swings, though  he had to break out the poster board and sharpies to chart them.

 

“And this,” Kevin said, drawing a red Sharpie line from one end of the board to another, “triggered that feeling about Scientology, which in turn led to  _ that _ breakdown…  And these are the methods I’m going to take to be stable, calm, and explore my spirituality without causing emotional distress. ” He pointed to a bullet-point list in the corner.

 

By the time he was done, they felt like they had watched a particularly satisfying TED Talk.

 

Arnold felt left out. “I’m dating a Jew?” he offered. “I might be engaged, I’m not sure. I met her entire family and I’m invited to her brother’s bar mitzvah?” 

 

“What’s that?” Kevin asked.

 

“It’s like a debauched baptism, I think.” 

 

Bennett snorted. “You guys are total, complete messes. You know that, right?”

 


	21. Latter Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's done!

In light of the scandal, the Manhattan penthouse loaned out to three Mormon missionaries was the least of the Congressman’s problems. He didn’t even remember it, answered the phone in a daze, thought Kevin was a prank caller.

 

“What?”

 

“Your house in New York City. We’re the Mormon missionaries who are staying there, but we recently had some life-changing realizations and feel that it would no longer be appropriate to--”

 

“I lost my  _ family.  _ My children won’t talk to me. Stay there. Burn it. Do whatever you want.” The Congressman hung up. 

 

Despite the Congressman’s permission to stay, they decided it wouldn’t be right to take advantage after they respectfully resigned from their Mission.

  
  
  


They regretted it almost immediately, once they learned how hard it was to get an apartment in New York City.  Looking through the apartment listings online, they realized why everyone made such a big deal that they stayed in the Dakota: most New York City apartments were not like the Dakota. Most were $2,000 a month closets. 

 

“And you just came out of one!” Bennett smacked Connor on the shoulder and laughing loudly, as if the others should feel blessed, rather than confused, to hear the joke.

 

“That was the bathroom,” Arnold corrected, brow furrowed.

 

“We could all share one room,” Kevin said, drumming his fingers against his thighs, frown falling deeper and deeper as he scrolled through Craigslist, “and it would only be… $600 a person.” 

 

“We don’t have jobs,” Arnold pointed out. They could stay in the Dakota. The Congressman didn’t care. They were sitting on the couch searching for apartments; they could decide not to  leave.

 

“We need a plan.” Connor uncapped a marker. 

  
  
  
  


Arnold worked in Avram’s deli, Connor waited tables, and Kevin handed out flyers.

 

Kevin realized he was using the exact same skills that he’d used all his life--bright smile, eye contact, cheerful disposition in the face of constant rejection--only here he was a missionary for Subway Sandwiches. It was essentially a lateral transition, but it was fine. It gave him time to connect with Heavenly Father in his own way. It also granted him free sandwiches. Free food in New York was more valuable than health insurance, or so they told themselves since their jobs provided the former and not the latter.

 

To Connor’s surprise, Bennett asked him to move in. Well, he asked him, Arnold, and Kevin to move in with six other people in their Queens apartment (two had moved out) so that they could split the rent ten ways. Still, Connor blushed and stammered.

 

“Move--move in? We’ve only known each other a few months and you’re talking about moving in? Like, together?  Like, pre-marriage ?”

 

“No, like New York City survival.” Perhaps he realized his words sounded harsh because he softened and added, “Although it would be nice to move in with you. Still doesn’t mean the same thing it does in Utah, jeez. I’m not proposing to you.” He turned red and looked at his feet. “So do you and your friends want to move in with me and my friends and a couple of strangers and drifters whose names I don’t know?”

 

Connor flung his arms around Bennett. “I do!”

 

It seemed egregious to move all their stuff via the subway system, but Chava assured them it was “totally OK. Everyone does it. Obviously, everyone is awful, there’s a special layer of hell for people who schlep mattresses on the 2 train, but everyone does it. It’s not like you have a mattress, right?”

 

She was right. They wound up squeezing on futons. Utah would have been spacious and safe and surrounded by friends and family and full-sized beds. They wouldn’t need to choose between balanced meals and laundry. 

 

“But it’s not like we’re locked into New York, right?” Kevin said cheerily, picking at a day-old Subway sandwich for breakfast one morning. “We can choose our own paths at any point in our lives.”

 

“If you’re complaining about New York, you’re already a local. You’ll never want to leave,” Bennett said.

 

“I’m not complaining,” Kevin smiled. He still sometimes felt an uncomfortable swirling of emotions from his brain to his toes, but he was Handling It Much Better. Or at least he hoped he was. 

 

“My sandwiches are better than yours,” Arnold bragged.

 

“You have a C health rating.”

 

“So do you!”

 

“I actually get real vegetables with my job, so…”  Connor trailed off in a not-to-brag voice. As a waiter, Connor had the best job of all: tips, unprocessed shift meals, celebrity sightings, a B+ health rating.“It’s because he’s the cutest,” Bennett had explained. “And also he’s gay and in New York and tap-dances so  it’s his destiny to be a waiter.” Before, it would have made Kevin resentful and competitive.  _ He _ was cute.  _ He  _ was in New York.  _ He  _ seemed kind of gay. At least, everyone seemed to think so.

 

But he was a new Kevin and he wouldn’t get competitive. Anyway, Bennett was Connor’s boyfriend. He had to say stuff like that.

 

“I get vegetables, too.” Kevin wasn’t sure if soggy green peppers counted as real. At least they weren’t fried. He shrugged, biting into the slightly-stale bread. 

 

“Potatoes are a vegetable. Spinach is a vegetable.” Arnold said, referring to knish filling.

 

“My man!” Bennett leaned over to high-five Arnold.

 

“Not this again,” Connor moaned.

 

“Anyway, what I meant earlier was,” Kevin announced, feeling himself swell with an important message, one that he needed to share with his friends as urgently as Gospel, “everything always works out in the end. It doesn’t matter where you are in life or what happens to you. You can always go back home or find a new home. You can always make things--”

 

His voice caught in his throat. He felt something in the pit of his stomach. A warmth.  A rumble. A call to action. 

 

“Food poisoning,” he choked, diving into the bathroom.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I take a lot of liberties with how Mormon missionaries work and with how things in the musical turned out and I will be taking a lot of liberties with the geography of New York City, but I wouldn't have a story otherwise.
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed a line or a particular bit or something. Thank you!


End file.
